


Jetii'Manda

by cjwritesfanficnow



Series: Expanded One-Shots [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blanket Permission, Cultural Differences, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Intrigue, M/M, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mandalorian Politics (Star Wars), Politics, This Grew A Plot, Time Travel, it was meant to be fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 108,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjwritesfanficnow/pseuds/cjwritesfanficnow
Summary: Obi-Wan bit his lip, his eyes going teary again. “I think… I think staying here is the selfish choice. I think the Force is trying to tell me that there are other people who need me to be a Jetii. ”Jaster nodded slowly, a plan already forming. “We’ve talked about a lot, and it’s a big decision,” he said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s leg once more. “Why don’t you take a few days to think about it?”A month later, Jaster found himself on a ship with Ben and a few of his council members, bound for Coruscanta.---A resurrected Obi-Wan Kenobi finds his way to Mandalore, and the Jedi. A Mandalorian!Obi-Wan fic that will be shameless fluff with a sprinkle of angst.Edit for new readers: Ben Kenobi and Obi-Wan Kenobi are two separate people in this story. There is only Jaster/Ben in this fic, but the Archive has some trouble knowing who Ben Kenobi is without the Obi-Wan tag. :)
Relationships: Ben Kenobi/Jaster Mereel, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jaster Mereel
Series: Expanded One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022848
Comments: 1154
Kudos: 2433
Collections: An Assortment of Damn Good Fics, Best in Fandom, Jedi Journals, My heart is full, SelfInserts OCs Reincarnation and Time Travel, Star Wars Alternate Universes, Yubi SW





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of chapters 1 and 3 of the one-shot collection! :) I've left those chapters up as they are in that fic and just created a series for this.

When Ben Kenobi woke up, he was surprised, and more than a bit confused. Understandably, of course, given the fact that the last thing he remembered was giving himself over to the Force, allowing his spirit to disconnect from the last tethers that bound him to the living world. And it had been such a happy, _Light_ moment—he had had Yoda at his side, and _Anakin—_ truly _Anakin_ again, not _Vader_ —and he could hear Qui-Gon, deeper in the Force, beckoning him.

He had looked down on them, at Luke, and Leia, and faded out of existence.

And then he woke up. But the dead didn’t wake.

Slowly, he surveyed his surroundings. He was in an open field of tall, green-blue grass. Ben frowned—he didn’t recognize this world. Perhaps this was what existence looked like, on the other side of the Force?

 _Rise,_ the Force bade him. It was ever Ben’s purpose to follow its Will, and so he shrugged to himself and rose. He could see what looked like a town, in the distance, low buildings with the small white smoke trails that spoke of inhabited homes. _Forward._

Ben began to walk.

* * *

Ben was surprised yet again to learn that he was on Stewjon. The Force was with him, and sang with Light and peace; clearly he wasn’t in Hel, but if this were some sort of Heaven, why would it not give him back the Temple?

He pushed his questions aside in favor of trusting the Force. It had always given him what he needed, even if he had, sometimes, been too blind to understand.

He wandered through the town, his Jedi robes inconspicuous enough that no one bothered to give him a second glance, and where his auburn hair often made him stand out, on Stewjon it helped him to blend in.

 _Forward,_ the Force called again. Ben sighed—hadn’t he done enough wandering during his years on Tatooine? _Forward._

Very well then. Ben continued walking, leaving the town behind. He trusted the Force to take him where he was meant to go.

* * *

Ben was not quite certain how long he had walked—Stewjon was, for the most part, horribly cloudy, making it difficult to judge time by the position of its sun in the sky.

Finally, he stilled, feeling something _else_ in the Force—panic, anger, fear, _hate._

He flinched. _Forward._

Grimacing, Ben followed his orders, and stopped dead at the sight before him: there was a woman, with a long, undyed, rough-spun dress, the fabric floating around her knees as she stood in a river.

And she was trying to drown a child.

Ben did not need the Force’s prodding to react to that—he surged forward, grabbing the child carefully and _pushing_ the woman back. She stumbled and fell down into the river, landing with a strangled cry before pushing herself up again. Ben began backing away, drawing his ‘saber. It was his _first_ ‘saber, he noted, the one that he had lost to Maul on Naboo. How strange. He ignited it, holding it out in front of him, cradling the shivering, wailing toddler to his chest.

“What are you _doing?_ ” the woman spat. “The demon _must_ be given to the river, or the Tribe will _suffer—_ ”

Ben growled, and then reigned himself in as the child’s cries grew louder. “I will take him. You will never see him again.”

“That is not _enough—_ ” The woman took a step closer, and Ben bared his teeth.

“Take another step, and I _will_ kill you.”

She paused, holding his gaze for a long moment, and Ben did not need a mirror to know what his expression looked like. She seemed to read the warning in his eyes, because she snarled at him, but backed up another step. Ben began to back up as well, slowly exiting the water and moving up onto the riverbank.

“He is _nothing,_ ” she said coldly. “He is no-one, child of nothing. Why save him?”

“All life is precious,” Ben snapped back, and then what she had said hit him.

 _No-one, child of nothing._ He felt the blood drain from his face as _realization_ struck: they were on Stewjon. And in Stewjoni, “no-one, child of nothing” was translated as _Obi-Wan Kenobi._

What was this? Why was Ben here? What was the Force requiring of him? To save another as he had been saved?

“Tell your Tribe you killed the child,” Ben ordered her, wrapping the Force around himself to make this a _command._ She frowned at him, but remained where she was, still in the river, staring at them. “I will take him, and we will never return to this planet again. You have my word.”

“We will kill you both, if you ever break your promise, and return here. They will kill _me_ for the falsehood,” she snarled at him. Ben nodded.

“I understand; we will _not_ return. Now _go._ ” He pushed as much of the Force as he could into that last word, and watched her leave.

He waited until she was nearly out of sight, a small speck on the horizon, the child’s cries subsiding as she moved farther from them. Ben slowly sat down, setting the still-damp child in his lap. He shrugged off his cloak, looking over the boy.

He was small and pale, with the same red hair that Ben sported and was common to all Stewjoni. The boy stared up at him with light eyes, somewhere between blue, green, and grey, and Ben tried to smile as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“I need to get you out of those wet clothes,” Ben murmured. “You must be cold.”

The boy blinked at him, but said nothing. He didn’t protest as Ben helped him struggle out of the wet clothes, laying them out to dry in the grass beside them. Ben shrugged off his cloak, and then wrapped it around the boy, gently smoothing a hand over the top of his head.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Ben hummed. The boy nodded slowly. “We’ll wait here a bit, until your clothes are dry enough to put back on.” The boy nodded again, but said nothing. He clutched Ben’s cloak tighter around himself. “My name is Ben Kenobi.”

The boy frowned at him. “Kenobi too?”

Ben nodded sadly. “Yes.”

The boy reached out to pat his knee clumsily. “Sorry.”

Ben’s heart ached—so he realized what that meant. Ben tried to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. We have each other now, don’t we?” The boy nodded. It was strange to think of another as Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Ben knew that there had been many of them; it was simply that few survived long enough to be known outside of Stewjon. They were ruthless in culling their Force-sensitive children.

 _Why_ no one truly understood, but there they were. Ben himself had been saved in a disturbingly similar situation, by a Jedi who had been stranded on Stewjon briefly while they repaired their ship after an altercation with a band of pirates in the same sector.

And now the Force had saved another child of Stewjon.

 _No,_ the Force disagreed. _Not another._

Well, that made little sense. Ben sighed and decided to think on that later. For now, he had more pressing concerns, such as when this strange afterlife hallucination would end, and if it didn’t end soon enough, then he needed to find a way off of the planet.

Hallucination or not, Ben was not going to sit by as yet another child was killed simply for the crime of being touched by the Force.

* * *

Ben held Obi-Wan on his hip as he walked and followed the Force to the next town over. This one, he was pleased to note, was far larger than the small village he had first come across, before finding that woman and Obi-Wan near the river. There even looked to be a spaceport—one of only two on the entire planet, Ben knew. Stewjon was terribly isolationist.

He entered the town proper, walking without consciously realizing where he was going, allowing the Force to guide him. Ben contemplated their situation.

He had a Force-sensitive child with him, and he himself was very obviously a Jedi, and therefore Force-sensitive. They were on a planet that would kill them for that alone, and he had already promised that they would leave, never to return. But he had no credits—and oh, he had checked, but apparently the Force had not deemed it necessary to provide him with any additional help beyond its guidance when he’d suddenly appeared back on the planet of his birth—and he had no idea who might be sympathetic enough to help them off the planet.

And the child must be getting hungry, Ben thought idly. It was strange, but he himself was getting hungry as well. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to understand what the hollow sensation in his stomach was, the meaning behind the gnawing pit that was developing. But then, he _had_ spent the past few years as Force ghost, and the dead had no need to worry about such things.

Whatever the Force had done to him when he let go of the last anchors holding him back from joining it, Ben was quickly growing more and more befuddled by it.

Ben did the sensible thing and made his way to the spaceport. He was a good enough mechanic, and he had various other skills that he could offer in exchange for passage to a more hospitable place. Suddenly, he paused, wondering if he should stick to Outer Rim planets, wondering if the Empire existed here in this life-beyond-the-afterlife or not.

It did not matter, he decided. The Outer Rim would be safer than other avenues, yes, and he could learn the lay of the land later, assuming the Force continued this strange hallucination after.

 _Life,_ the Force whispered, sounding almost disgruntled. Ben frowned at that. It was still terribly unhelpful.

He found them a bench and sat down, looking over the ships there. Many of them were Stewjoni, from the few trading clans that actually had any contact with the larger galaxy.

He sucked in a breath and quickly wrapped the Force around himself and Obi-Wan, hiding them within its folds, trying to ensure that they wouldn’t be noticed. Because there, at one end of the hangar, was a heavily armed ship, and standing on the ramp were two Mandalorians.

Ben studied them carefully: one wore red armor—honoring a parent, he knew—and the other wore black armor—for justice. The one in blue turned to shout something at one of the droids working on the ship, and Ben frowned: there was a stylized white mythosaur on his chest.

Who were these Mandalorians? Clearly they weren’t Death Watch, because they would never allow one of their members to wear _that_ symbol. That was the sigil of the True Mandalorians, but—they were all dead. The Jedi had killed them.

Hadn’t they?

 _Not yet,_ the Force whispered. Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion. _Change._

Well, that was just as maddeningly unclear as the rest of what the Force had whispered that day. What did it _mean?_ Not _yet?_ It had happened when Ben was just a child—

In his intense concern and worry, one of his hands holding the cloak slipped, and Obi-Wan let out small, wordless cry. Ben looked down at him, frowning.

“It’s alright, little one,” Ben murmured. “I’ve been in worse predicaments than this, I can assure you. Everything will be alright.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him again, falling quiet. Ben sighed and hugged him a bit tighter to his chest, looking up to survey the hangar again.

The Mandalorians were looking at him. Ben mentally cursed. If they realized he was a Jedi—and they had no fondness for the Order, even if they “hadn’t yet” killed all of them (whatever that was supposed to mean)—they weren’t likely to keep quiet about it. That would out Ben and Obi-Wan to everyone else here, and they would have to reach the other spaceport, to have any chance of making it off of Stewjon.

That was on the other side of the planet, if he recalled correctly. But there was nothing for it; they would have to go. Sighing, Ben got to his feet, intending to turn away and leave the spaceport—

His legs did not seem to be obeying his commands, instead marching him _towards_ the Mandalorians. The Force wrapped itself around him, part comfort and part order: _forward._

...alright then.

He approached the Mandalorians, his body allowing them to stop several feet away. He cleared his throat, and both looked to him. “ _Su cuy’gar, Mando’ade._ ”

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” the one in black said. He, too, had the stylized mythosaur skull on his chest, though his was painted in green, for duty. He fell silent, waiting for Ben to speak.

“ _Tion’cuyi Haat Mando’ade?_ ” he asked. They nodded slowly. Ben nodded back. He opened his mouth again, but the words that came out were not the ones he had intended to say—more of the Force controlling him, he thought. He didn’t much care for it, as much as he strove to follow its Will. He much preferred it when his actions were his own to choose. The Force seemed to brush against his cheek in silent apology, but he could not take the words back.

“ _Ke’hiibi kaysh. Ni gedeti._ ”

The two Mandalorians exchanged glances, and then looked at Obi-Wan, who only blinked silently at them. Ben knew he couldn’t have any way to understand Mando’a, and he likely felt the currents of the Force behaving strangely around them, muffled by the _beskar_ they wore.

“ _Tion'jor?_ ” the black-clad Mandalorian asked slowly.

“ _Ni kaysh tegaanali. Kaysh dar’buir…_ ” Ben shivered, and Obi-Wan made a small noise. The toddler patted his chest.

“S’okay, Ben,” he assured him. The Mandalorians stared at them for a moment longer, and then the one in black stepped forward slowly. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a dark-skinned man with streaks of grey beginning to show in his hair. He had a wicked scar across his cheek. He smiled gently at Obi-Wan.

“Hello, little one,” he said. Obi-Wan looked up at him, blinking slowly.

“Hi.”

“I’m Lark Kordo, House Mereel,” he said. Ben frowned at that—it was one thing to wear the mythosaur on their armor, and it was another entirely to claim House Mereel. That was _dangerous,_ that put a target on their backs even more than the mythosaur did— “What’s your name?”

Obi-Wan looked down at the floor, whispering, “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“That’s a nice name,” Kordo said. Obi-Wan bit his lip and shook his head.

“It’s like Nasaade,” Ben explained quietly, looking at Obi-Wan so he didn’t have to see the Mandalorian’s expression at that. “But rather than choosing the name for himself, it was given to him by his _dar’buir._ ”

“Why?” Kordo asked, an edge of anger coloring his voice. Ben flinched slightly. He had realized, of course, that they would find out eventually, and he knew he would have to tell them. He could only trust the Force that had led him to speak to them, and hope that they would still help the boy. He knew they cared for children, especially if they still clung to the _Haat Mando’ade’s_ ideals.

Ben could only hope that would extend to Force-sensitive children as well.

“The Force is with him,” Ben answered quietly. Kordo stiffened slightly. “Stewjoni see it as a curse. They try to… eliminate it from their population.”

“Momma tried to give me to the river,” Obi-Wan added softly. “It was cold.” He shivered and Ben held him a bit tighter, flinching again at the pure _rage_ Kordo radiated for a second as he connected the dots.

“You look Stewjoni,” Kordo said, looking at Ben critically. He nodded.

“I am.”

“Why help him, then? If your people believe the Force is a curse?”

Ben gave him a smile that he could feel was lopsided, and perhaps a little bitter. He took one hand off of Obi-Wan to open his cloak slightly, revealing the lightsaber on his hip.

“You’re a _Jetii._ ”

Ben flinched. “I _was._ Before.” He had _tried,_ so hard, to retain what he could of the Order on Tatooine, but he had found it so very _difficult_ to be a Jedi without the Order. It was a hollow ache that had never truly been soothed.

Kordo’s expression turned wary. “ _Dar’Jetii?_ ”

“No, of course not,” Ben assured him. “I… _wey’cuyi Jetii_ is perhaps a better description. I am hardly a Sith. Please—I promised, in exchange for his mother giving him to me, that I would get him off the planet, never to return. Will you help him?”

“What will happen to you, if you stay?” the Mandalorian in red asked slowly, speaking up for the first time. Ben shrugged; it hardly mattered, if they wanted to kill _him,_ but he wasn’t about to explain to these hallucinations that he was already dead. The Force seemed to disagree with that thought, but Ben could not understand _why._ The Mandalorian in red hit a button on his gauntlet, one that Ben guessed was for their comms. The Mandalorian in black put his hand to his ear—definitely comms, then. Kordo nodded slowly.

Aloud, he said, “I agree. You should both come with us.” Ben frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Kordo shook his head. “If you had your own means of the planet, you wouldn’t need to ask us to take the little one. You’re in danger if you stay, by your own admission. I know we’ve had our… differences in the past, _Jetiise_ and _Mando’ade,_ but you speak our language, and you’re not a _Jetii_ anymore.” Kordo shrugged. “We can drop you off somewhere, if you have a place to go. We’ll figure that out later. For now, it seems like your need is fairly urgent, and we’re just about finished with our refuelling. Are you coming?”

“I… yes,” Ben sighed as the Force whispered _forward-change-forward-_ ** _change._** “ _Vor’e._ ” Kordo nodded in satisfaction.

“ _Jate._ I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking.”

* * *

The Mandalorian in red didn’t take his helmet off until they were all safely ensconced in the ship, in hyperspace. He was, apparently, Lark Kordo’s son, though as he was a Twi’lek, Ben guessed he’d been adopted. Obi-Wan, for his part, seemed to easily accept that, and let the young man, Khizada, feed him a bit of stew—which he added a few extra tubers to in order to make it less spicy for the youngling—while Lark set the autopilot.

“So, _wey’cuyi Jetii—_ where to?” Lark asked. Ben hesitated. Should he return to Tatooine? The Force seemed to disagree with that idea.

 _Forward,_ it told him, which, again, answered precisely none of his questions. Ben sighed.

“I’m afraid we have nowhere to go,” Ben answered. “Though, if you could take us to any inhabited planet that does not hate Force-sensitives on principle, we will be fine.”

The Force seemed almost _angry_ with him for that. **_Forward. Change._**

Change _what?_ Forward to _where?_ Ben pursed his lips as he argued with the Force. It only sighed at him in reply, as if disappointed in him. Ben got the sense that he was missing something.

Lark looked at him curiously. “We could take you to _Manda’yaim,_ ” he offered slowly. Ben frowned outright at him. “Look, the Wars were a long time ago, and you said yourself you aren’t even a _Jetii_ anymore. You saved an _adiik,_ at great risk to yourself. There’s no _Mando’ad_ who wouldn’t understand that—well, except for _Kyr’tsad,_ those _hu’tuunla shabuir’e._ ”

Ben blinked at him. “And what of Galidraan?”

Lark frowned. “Galidraan? Never heard of it.”

“...what?” Ben sighed, reaching up to rub his temples.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lark said slowly. “If you’re concerned that we might not all feel the same way, we can go to the _Mand’alor._ If he agrees that you can stay, then everyone will fall in line.”

“...and who is the _Mand’alor?_ ” Ben asked slowly. He had heard _rumors,_ before he died—everything from Satine’s nephew, Korkie, donning armor and taking control, to the reemergence of Boba Fett.

“Jaster Mereel,” Lark answered immediately. Ben’s heart skipped a beat.

“That’s not possible,” he said. It wasn’t, it _wasn’t_ possible, it couldn’t be. Jaster Mereel had been dead for… Force, _decades_ now. He had died on Korda 6, after the Death Watch had set a trap for them, only one of the first.

“...are you alright?” Ben snapped his mouth shut, realizing he had been muttering to himself. He shrugged helplessly. “Okay, look. Not to be rude, but you’re clearly in no shape to take care of a child by yourself right now.”

Ben huffed a laugh at that. Yes, that was bitterly true. Although Ben had clearly _never_ been in any shape to care for a child. Just look at how Anakin had turned out—

“We’re taking you to _Manda’yaim,_ ” Lark said firmly. He held up a hand as Ben opened his mouth to protest again. “I’ll speak to the _Mand’alor,_ and we’ll get you a _mir’baar'ur._ Once they agree that you’re… stable, you can take Obi-Wan wherever you want to go, if you choose to leave. Does that sound fair to you?”

More than fair, actually, though frankly, Ben was dreading speaking to a mind healer. Especially a _Mandalorian_ mind healer. But… perhaps he could simply make off with Obi-Wan, once they were on Mandalore. Going into hiding on Mandalore, running from Mandalorians… at least that was familiar territory.

He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. _Vor entye._ ”

Lark nodded. “ _N'entye._ _Tion’gar gai?_ ”

Ben smiled tightly. “Well, it was once Obi-Wan Kenobi, of course. I now go by Ben Kenobi.”

Lark nodded again. “Ben. Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll look after Obi-Wan, for a while.”

Ben nodded, suddenly aware of how _tired_ he was—but then, the dead did not need sleep, either. When he had not been needed in the living world, he had simply… _drifted_ on the currents of the Force.

“Yes, thank you. I shall feel better after some sleep, I’m sure,” Ben said. He tried for a reassuring grin, but judging from the concern Lark was still radiating in the Force, he hadn’t quite managed it.

* * *

His sleep was not as restful as he would have hoped. Ben _knew_ that he was dreaming, but he still felt his eyes sting, tears gathering as he looked around the quarters he had occupied in the Temple for so long—first with Qui-Gon, and then, later, with Anakin.

When he had gone back to the Temple that final time with Master Yoda, Ben had dared to look into their quarters. Anakin had destroyed _everything,_ including the river stone that Qui-Gon had given to him, and that Ben had passed down to Anakin on his thirteenth birthday. Jedi were not supposed to become attached to their belongings any more than they were meant to become attached to people, but Ben had never been the best example of detachment.

“Obi-Wan.”

He turned at the familiar voice, smiling at the blue projection of Qui-Gon. “Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “We have much to discuss.” He gestured to the meditation mats beside the windows, and Ben obediently sat. Qui-Gon sat as well, hovering slightly over the mat itself. Projections rarely could get it quite right, their interactions with the living world. It took a great deal of concentration simply to keep oneself from floating _through_ things—or people. Luke had been upset with him for that one, telling him that it felt like his skin was buzzing hot and cold at the same time. Ben had taken great care to ensure that he did not do so again.

“I am not him,” Qui-Gon began, sounding apologetic. Ben simply nodded.

“Of course you aren’t,” he agreed. “I’m dreaming. Though _how,_ I’m not sure. The dead don’t sleep.”

“You aren’t dead,” Qui-Gon corrected him gently. Ben blinked at him, unconsciously reaching up to rub at his collarbone, where he had felt Anakin’s ‘saber— “I am a manifestation of the Force, taking a form you would accept.”

“I see,” Ben said slowly.

“You are not dead,” Qui-Gon repeated firmly. “The Force has given you a chance to bring change.”

Ben frowned. “To change _what?_ We _won—_ it was a costly victory, yes, but we _won._ The Sith were defeated.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “They were. But on the path there, the Force itself was wounded. Just as wounded as you were.”

Ben did not need to ask what that meant. His stomach churned, ice wrapping around his heart from old grief. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the feeling of the lights that represented his family in the Force winking out, one by one, until there was only an aching, empty darkness where the Jedi had once been.

“You’ve been given a chance to heal what was hurt,” Qui-Gon said. “To fix what was broken, and return what was taken. Will you take it?”

“Of course I would take such a chance,” Ben sighed. “But I’m _dead,_ Qui-Gon. It _happened,_ and there is no changing it.”

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “You’ve forgotten one of the first lessons you were meant to learn in the creche, Padawan,” he murmured. “All things are possible, with the Force.”

* * *

Ben woke with a start, frowning to himself. He sighed and rolled out of the bunk, padding out into the ship proper, not bothering to grab his ‘saber or put his cloak back on. It was the night cycle on the ship, now, all of the lights dimmed. He made his way to the cargo hold and sat down, preparing to try to meditate.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He looked up at Lark, who was smiling at him. “We just got your boy down.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “And I did sleep, for a time.” Lark nodded easily, moving to lean up against a crate, folding his arms over his chest. The Force prodded at him, and Ben sighed. “What year is it?”

Lark frowned at him, but answered slowly, “7923 C.R.C.”

Ben’s heart skipped another beat. The Force swirled around him, whispering _truth_ and **_change._ **But it couldn’t be—

_All things are possible, with the Force._

“...I see.”

Lark tilted his head. “Look, I’m no _mir’baar’ur,_ but if you want to talk about it…”

 _Not yet,_ the Force whispered. _Not the whole truth._ “I have… visions,” Ben admitted the partial-truth slowly. “Incredibly lifelike dreams of possible futures. At times, it becomes… muddled together. I sometimes find myself not realizing the current year, or what events have, or have not, happened yet.”

Lark grimaced. “That sounds… horrible.”

“It is rather unpleasant, and disorienting,” Ben agreed mildly. Lark nodded.

“That does explain why you’re acting like a shell-shocked cadet,” he joked. Ben smiled, and vaguely wondered how old he appeared to be. Did he _look_ like a cadet? Like a young man again? He could tell he wasn’t Old Ben, Wizard of the Wastes, yet—his joints felt far too comfortably young for that. “Can I ask you something?” Ben shrugged. “Why did you leave the _Jetiise?_ ”

Ben closed his eyes. He _hadn’t,_ not that final time. “There was no one for me to return to,” he finally answered slowly, grief weighing his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Lark said, voice soft and gentle, “about whoever it is you lost. I know what grief looks like, and you’re drowning in it.”

 _Force,_ to have someone _acknowledge it,_ and be _sympathetic_ towards him… It broke a part of Ben’s heart that he hadn’t realized he’d been shoring up. On Tatooine, there were a few who guessed who he was, in the early days, before he no longer looked much like Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore, and the reactions had been mixed. Some had given him sad smiles, but many more had spat on him, had cursed his name, and had told him how glad they were that his kind were dead.

It had _hurt,_ but it had been no less than Ben had expected, with the lies the Empire had told about them, with the blame of the war that had cleaved the galaxy in two resting on the Order’s shoulders.

And now this _Mandalorian_ was the first one to offer simple _compassion,_ and Ben’s heart ached, his eyes growing misty. He smiled.

“Thank you. The Order discourages attachment, but… they were my family,” he whispered. “They encouraged our bonds with each other, never thinking about the possibility that one day, those very bonds would be what broke us.”

Because it had been _that,_ after everything, that had broken Ben. He had been glad to shed the name Obi-Wan Kenobi, because he _wasn’t_ that man anymore. He was just tired, hurt _Ben,_ old before his time, broken by the deaths of his family. He thought of Depa, broken far earlier by her attachment to the Jedi, and her men, and watching them fall to the Separatists had broken her, leading to a spectacular Fall. He thought of Qui-Gon, rushing ahead to fight the Sith himself in the hope of protecting _him._ He thought of Krell, Falling because he could no longer accept the kind of people the Jedi had become. He thought of Dooku, broken by Galidraan, by Komari Vosa, by Qui-Gon’s death.

The Jedi were already attached, and the Sith had taken advantage of it.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Lark asked softly, moving to sit near him. The Force whispered _peace, comfort,_ ** _help._ **Ben sighed.

“My Master was killed, and my Grandmaster left the Order in his own grief,” Ben said slowly. “My Master left behind the boy who should have been his next apprentice; he should have been my Padawan-brother. Instead, I took him on. I was too young, and we were both grieving. But it was my Master’s last request, that he be trained, and the other Knights and Masters had already rejected the boy. Neither of us had much choice. He was… he was like my brother, and yet like my son, and in the end… In the end, he Fell. He turned to the Dark Side, and killed other Jedi. I was forced to raise my lightsaber against my _own Padawan._ ”

He buried his face in his hands. Distilling the story down to that, to its essence, made it seem so starkly painful. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You loved him,” Lark murmured. Ben _burned_ with shame, because he _had,_ but he wasn’t supposed to. Not the selfish, self-absorbed love that he and Anakin had developed. But they had both been grieving, and Anakin had missed his mother, and their bond had been forged in that grief. It had led to _possession,_ Ben knew. Coveting, on both of their parts.

Ben had been attached to Anakin, and that was why the boy had never learned to let go of his _own_ attachments. In that sense, Ben was solely responsible for his Fall.

“I can see why you had to leave, after all of that,” Lark sighed. “They were like your family, and with half of your family gone or dead, and your own apprentice betraying you like that… We’ve heard plenty of similar stories, in the _Haat Mando’ade._ With the divisions, Clans and Houses are being torn apart, forced to choose sides between us, _Kyr’tsad,_ or the New Mandalorians. It’s heartbreaking. That’s what happened to my son—his parents joined _Kyr’tsad,_ and he knew it wasn’t right. He ran to us, and I took him in. He was just ten.”

“My Padawan was nine, when I took him on,” Ben murmured. “And unconventional—Jedi are not meant to know their birth families, but he had come late to the Order. He remembered his mother.”

Lark nodded slowly. “I know that struggle. It was hard for Khivada to reconcile his memories of them. He loved them, and they loved him, but then they joined _Kyr’tsad,_ and let them start to train him. They torture their cadets, and he couldn’t understand why they would let that happen to him if they loved him.” Softer, he added, “I’m sure you did the best you could. You clearly cherish _adiik’e._ ”

“That almost makes it worse,” Ben huffed, finally taking his hands away from his face. “That simply means that _I_ wasn’t enough.”

“He failed you, you know,” Lark said. “From what you’ve told me, he failed you far more than you failed him. You took him in as family should, and he spat in your face.”

Ben frowned at that, but found he had no answer. Wasn’t that what he’d always told Qui-Gon about Xanatos? That Xanatos had failed _him,_ rather than the other way around?

He sighed again, and Lark stood slowly. “If you can’t get back to sleep, how about some food? We’ve got plenty of _tiingilar_ left.”

Finally, Ben smiled. _Tiingilar_ brought back fond memories—him and Satine and Qui-Gon running from Death Watch on Mandalore, accepting meals from the few they found who would help them, and memories of the war, his men…

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“I can add some tubers, to make it less spicy.”

Ben smiled serenely. “Oh, there’s no need for that.”

Lark raised an eyebrow at him, clearly dubious. Ben only chuckled. Little did he know.

* * *

Lark watched as Ben all but wolfed down the _tiingilar,_ humming in satisfaction. His eyes weren’t even watering.

“How do you know Mando’a?” Lark asked. “Didn’t think it was a language the _Jetiise_ would teach.”

“They don’t,” Ben answered between bites. “I learned from _Mando’ade._ I spent a year on _Manda’yaim,_ in my youth.”

Lark frowned. “What were _Jetiise_ doing on _Manda’yaim?_ ”

Ben shrugged. “The New Mandalorian movement was just beginning, back then. The Senate wanted us to help them. They heard ‘peace’ and decided they were the best faction to side with, without taking into consideration the fact that their policies would erase over a millennium’s cultural development.”

Lark grinned at that. “You clearly don’t agree.”

“Of course not. There is more than one way to kill someone, and taking away the identity of Mandlore… It would be the same as executing you, forcing you to give up your _beskar’gam,_ to give up the _Resol’nare._ It would kill a part of your soul in ways _pacifists_ cannot understand, and would be a sort of violence in its own right. I can’t conscience such a thing.”

“Good to know,” Lark said slowly. “When we arrive on _Manda’yaim…_ ” Ben looked up from his bowl again, likely hearing Lark’s hesitation in his voice. He sighed. “I just want to warn you, so you’re not… alarmed. But once I explain your situation, and ask for the _mir’baar’ur,_ they’ll separate you from Obi-Wan. You’ll be allowed to see him, of course, but he won’t be in your care, not until you’ve been cleared.”

Ben nodded. “Perfectly sensible. I know how _Mando’ade_ feel about children, and have no problem entrusting him to your care while I am… indisposed.”

Lark nodded back slowly, relief filling him. He had been able to see from the moment he’d set eyes on Ben that the man was a warrior, despite how young he looked—maybe barely thirty at the oldest, Lark would guess, though much of his face was hidden behind a neat beard—and if he’d chosen to put up a fight at being separated from the kid, it would have been ugly.

“I presume we will be landing in Keldabe?” Ben asked. Lark nodded.

“Have you been before?”

Ben hummed and waved a hand. “As I said, it was a very long time ago, now. And I am more familiar with Sundari.”

Lark nodded; that made sense, if the Senate had sent the _Jetiise_ to help the New Mandalorians. “I’ll show you around Keldabe, then.”

Ben smiled wanly. “That sounds lovely. _Vor’e._ ”

* * *

Jaster wasn’t sure _what_ to make of this situation. He stared at Lark, frowning thoughtfully.

“And he says he’s not a _Dar’Jetii,_ but he’s not a _Jetii,_ either?” Jaster clarified. Lark nodded.

“ _‘Lek, Alor._ He had good reasons for leaving the Order,” Lark said, something sad in his eyes. “The man who trained him, who basically raised him as a _buir_ would have, was killed. His _ba’buir_ left the Order himself, after that. There was a boy that his _buir_ was meant to train, but he was killed before he could. Ben took him on, but the boy Fell to the Dark Side—like a _Dar’Jetii,_ from what I can figure. Ben said he killed other _Jetiise,_ and Ben was forced to fight him. He didn’t come out and say it, but I suspect he killed him.”

Jaster nodded slowly, grimacing. That would be enough to break a man, he thought. It wasn’t terribly surprising he left the _Jetiise_ after all of it. “And the _adiik?_ ”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Lark said, smiling now. “Quiet, a little skittish, at times, but that’s no surprise, given how his _dar’buir_ felt about him. He said he could _feel_ that she didn’t love him, that she was afraid of him.”

Jaster frowned. “Their… Force?”

“ _‘Lek._ ”

Jaster sighed, and nodded. “And what, exactly, are you sponsoring them for? Residence, citizenship?”

“For now, just medical care,” Lark sighed. “Ben needs a _mir’baar’ur._ He’s the definition of a traumatic stress response case.”

“I can imagine,” Jaster murmured. The kind of trauma Ben had been through was bound to leave some serious scars. He nodded again. “I agree. Your petition is granted. Now, I should meet our new friends, shouldn’t I?”

* * *

Ben was younger than Jaster had expected. They found him sitting in the courtyard, under the watchful but unobtrusive gazes of several of the _Haat Mando’ade._ He had the little one in his lap, and was pointing at different things, naming them softly in Mando’a for the boy.

They both looked up at Jaster’s approach, and Ben looked like he was going to stand up, but the boy curled into Ben, leaning away from Jaster slightly. Slowly, he pulled off his helmet and crouched down, smiling gently at them.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” he said softly. The child blinked at him; Ben bowed his head.

“ _Mand’alor._ ” Jaster nodded back before directing his attention to the _adiik._

“How old are you, _ad’ika?_ ” Jaster asked softly. Obi-Wan blinked at him and then held up three fingers. He nodded, smiling slightly. He was barely an _adiik,_ nearly an _ikaad_ skill.

“How old’re you?” Obi-Wan asked softly. Jaster grinned as Ben made a strangled little noise.

“I don’t have enough fingers to show you,” Jaster answered. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide.

“Wow,” he said, “Tha’s _old._ ” Behind him, Jaster heard Montross snort and Liika howl with laughter. Obi-Wan smiled too, probably not understanding why, but their laughter making him grin. Obi-Wan twisted around to look at Ben. “Do you have enough fingers?”

“I have ten of them, just as you do, which I would say is enough,” Ben answered. Obi-Wan frowned, realizing that had not answered his question, but Ben looked back to Jaster.

“Lark explained what you told him,” Jaster said. Ben nodded stiffly, and he recognized the look in the man’s eyes as _grief._ “We’ll give you both whatever help you need.”

“ _Vor entye,_ ” Ben answered, smiling tightly at him. Jaster nodded back.

“ _N’entye._ Let’s get you both to the _ba’ruur’e._ ”

* * *

Ben was finally alone, and it was as distressing as it was a relief. He was quite accustomed to being alone, after nineteen years as a desert hermit, but he hadn’t realized how grounding the company of little Obi-Wan and the Mandalorians had been until they were gone.

The room in the medical wing they had given him was quite nice (that they had rooms like this ready had concerned him, and then saddened him when the healers had explained that they were usually meant for those who were rescued from Death Watch to stay in while they recovered enough to be released). The bed was spacious, and there was an attached ‘fresher. Ben had certainly done with fewer comforts many times before. They hadn’t even bothered with Force suppressants, or shielding the room, since he was a willing patient. He understood why he was restricted to the medical ward unless he had a Mandalorian escort; until he was cleared by their mind healers, he was a possible danger. Ben could not even disagree with _that,_ either. Who knew when he might have an inconveniently timed flashback?

Sighing, Ben pulled off his boots, setting them neatly beside the bed, shrugged off his cloak and laid it out on the bed as an extra blanket, and then settled on the floor to meditate.

It was 7923 C.R.C., apparently, and that meant Ben had a good deal to think about.

He didn’t stop to ponder _how_ this had happened, knowing that the only answer that he would get was that it was the Force, which he already knew. Nor did Ben stop to question the veracity of it—he could feel it, both in the _reassurance_ and _truth_ echoing in the Force around him, and in the blatant evidence of the tens of thousands of _Lights_ all across the galaxy.

The Jedi were alive. They were alive, and Ben could go home—

The Force seemed to sigh at him, even as it whispered _change_ again.

Change _what?_

He received no answer, and let out a long breath. He would have to work through that question himself. Alright, then. Where to start?

Well, with the new knowledge of the current date, the circumstances under which he had found Obi-Wan on Stewjon sounded far less like _similar_ circumstances to his own and more like the _exact same circumstances._ That led to the uncomfortable realization that the boy he had saved was probably _himself,_ and that the woman had been his mother.

That was… not a topic Ben wanted to go near, not yet. Shoving it aside, he focused on what else he knew.

The Force itself had guided him to Lark and his son, and in turn, here to Mandalore. But _why?_ If he was in the past, and the Force wished him to _change_ things, then why not take him back to the Order? Why _Mandalore?_ Why lead him to a planet known for its _Jedi killers_ if the Force meant for him to change their fate?

Ben’s mind shuddered to a halt— _Jedi killers._ Mandalorians were known for their prowess in battle against Force-users. Of course, that was why the Sith had supported Death Watch until it was no longer convenient for them, why they had made sure that when the time came to seize power, Mandalore was in no position to challenge them.

And, in the end, Mandalore had suffered the same fate as the Jedi. Mandalore itself was rendered completely uninhabitable, all of the domes destroyed, and stripped for its _beskar_ before its citizens were slaughtered, New Mandalorians and Death Watch alike.

Was the Sith allied with Death Watch even now? Were events already in motion for the downfall of Mandalore, as they were for the Order?

Ben sighed. That wasn’t helpful. He needed first to decide what he was meant to _do_ here. He reached for the Force again.

 _You want Mandalore in a position to stand against the Sith._ The Force whispered truth. _And you want me to help them in order for that to be possible._

 _Change,_ the Force said again, sounding satisfied. _Help them, and they will help you._

Ben sighed. He knew what the Force wanted of him, but he still thought longingly of the Temple—it wouldn’t be smouldering, now. Its pillars would stand tall and bright, and there would be no bodies in the hallways, no feeble, retired Elders lying on the ground, no _younglings with lightsaber wounds—_

He remembered the security video, and that heartbreaking moment in the Council Chambers, when the few younglings who had made it there looked at Anakin with such _hope,_ and so much _fear,_ but they hadn’t been afraid of _him,_ even though they should have been.

“ _Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?_ ”

The youngling had flinched as Anakin ignited his ‘saber, and then—

“ _Udesii,_ Ben, that’s it. Focus on my voice. It’s okay, _udesii._ You’re safe now, it’s alright. You’re on _Manda’yaim,_ in Keldabe. You’re in your own room, in our medical ward. You’re safe, and your little one is safe with the other foundlings, for now. That’s good, just keep breathing.” Ben slowly calmed as he listened to the voice, slowing coming back to himself.

There were gentle hands on his wrists, holding them lightly, and Ben felt tears on his cheeks. He blinked at the woman crouched in front of him, a pretty human or near-human with pale hair and bright eyes.

“Back with me?” she asked softly. Ben nodded jerkily. She squeezed his wrists and let go, though she shifted herself so she was sitting cross-legged, just like he was, with their knees barely brushing to give him some further grounding contact. Ben wiped away his tears slowly, focusing on his breathing. She gave him a moment before speaking again. “I’m Tala Venn, House Kryze. I’m going to be your _mir’ba’ruur,_ if you’re alright with that.” Ben nodded slowly, and she smiled. Ben could see the faint family resemblance to Adonai and Satine Kryze, with her bright blonde hair, though her eyes were more like Bo-Katan’s. It was strange to realize that both of them would be _babies_ right now. “We weren’t meant to meet until tomorrow morning, but needs must, hmm?” Ben chuckled at that. “Flashback, I’m guessing?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his smile fading.

She nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ben chuckled dryly. “Not at all. But I realize I must,” he answered slowly. “What do you already know?”

“Everything you told Lark Kordo.”

Ben nodded slowly, looking down at their knees, still lightly pressed together. “I said that my Padawan killed other Jedi. That… included younglings. They weren’t even old enough to have had lightsaber training yet. They were completely defenseless, and he—” He broke off, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We heard about how you saved Ob’ika. It’s obvious how much you care about _ade._ ” Ben nodded, swallowing hard. “Why did he do it?”

“He Fell,” Ben answered softly. “He thought—he had married, against the explicit rules of the Order. Relationships are allowed, but nothing so binding as a marriage. His wife was pregnant, and he had horrible visions of her death, and the deaths of the twins she was carrying. Another Dark Side user had convinced him that he could save her, if my Padawan Fell, and joined him. His price was… us. The Order.”

Tala was quiet for a long moment, and then she asked, “Did you kill him?”

Ben flinched, closing his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I _couldn’t,_ even knowing what he’d done. Oh, we fought, and I won, but he lived, though he was more machine than man, after that.” He shook his head. “I should have. I think… if I had known he would survive, I think I might have.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Ben,” she said gently. “That boy was like your son, or your brother, from what I’ve heard. You know, I’ve talked to a few patients in shockingly similar situations to yours. There’s a teenager, Myles—he’ll be in your therapy group, when you’re ready for that—who ran away from _Kyr’tsad_ a few weeks ago. His entire family is allied with them, but his older brother—a full adult already—wanted to walk away. Their parents killed him for it, and they didn’t stop there. They killed his _riduur_ and their _adiik,_ too. Myles saw that that wasn’t right, and came to us. It’s been difficult for him, trying to reconcile how he loves them with what they did. His _vod’ad_ was only four, and they killed her.”

“ _Dar’Manda shabuir’e,_ ” Ben muttered darkly. Tala nodded.

“Yes, they are. But what I’m getting at, Ben, is that you’re not alone,” she said softly. “We _understand_ how you can still love someone who’s done horrible things. We understand why you couldn’t actually bring yourself to put him down.”

“I can’t help but wonder if it never would have happened if my Master had been able to train him, if he’d lived to see it through,” Ben murmured. “If he could have been saved, if everyone he killed could have been spared—”

“There’s no point in what if’s, Ben,” Tala said gently, and Ben wanted to scream, because now there _was._ Now his past was stretched out in front of him as his future, as _Obi-Wan’s_ future, but how could he explain that to her? He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze, and frowned. He knew that look—it was the same fiery determination all Mandalorians wore when they were prepared to be _stubborn_ about something. “You loved him as your _aliit,_ yes?” Ben nodded slowly. “Did you raise him as well as you could?”

“I tried—”

“Did you do your best?”

“I did.”

Tala nodded decisively. “Then you did not fail him. You took him in when your _buir_ died, and you loved him, and did your best to raise him right. He failed _you,_ Ben. Not the other way around.”

Ben sighed. “You’ll forgive me if I can’t accept that, I’m sure.”

Tala snorted. “I will. I’m a mind healer; I know that wounds like this don’t heal overnight, and not without a lot of help. Are you willing to work with me to get there?”

Ben nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you for your help.”

She smiled prettily at him, and Ben blanched at the ghost of Satine looking back at him in that smile. “You never have to thank me, Ben. Not for this.”

* * *

_Two years later_

* * *

“To summarize,” Jaster said, rubbing absently at his temple as he spoke; state meetings had a tendency to give him headaches, which he thought was understandable, since they took _all day,_ “we’re still waiting on the reports from Kalevala before we can move on the intel on Concord Dawn. We’ll give it another day or so, but if we haven’t heard anything yet by evening meal tomorrow, then we’ll send scouting parties to both Kalevala and Concord Dawn. We’ll root out _Kyr’tsad,_ one way or another _._ ” A round of approving nods went around the table, and he nodded back. “Please tell me that was the last bit of business.”

“Not quite,” Liika sighed, giving him a lopsided smile. “Sorry, there’s just one more thing. Well, two, technically.” Jaster waved a hand at her and then brought both hands up to rub at either side of his head. He made a mental note to ask the _ba’ruur’e_ for painkillers straight away, to ensure this didn’t grow into another migraine. “First, _Mir’baar’ur_ Venn reports that Ben Kenobi is ready to leave the program.” Jaster hummed—that was good news. They had started slowly with him, allowing him twice-daily, supervised contact with Obi-Wan until he proved that he wouldn’t be a danger to the boy; then they had moved them both into shared quarters attached to the medical wing, though they spent most of the day apart, Ben in long sessions with Venn, and Obi-Wan in class with the other _ade._ Finally, they were ready to move into a home of their own, away from the medical ward.

“ _Jate,_ ” Jaster said, nodding. “I trust her judgement. If she says he’s ready, then I approve.”

“I’ll let her know,” Liika answered, nodding. “The other matter… Ben wants a word with you.” Jaster frowned—Ben knew he could approach Jaster whenever he liked, so for him to _request_ a meeting meant that this was an official matter.

“Alright. When?”

“As soon as possible, he said.”

Jaster sighed; his day was about to get longer.. “Someone fetch him.”

“Right away, _Alor._ ”

* * *

Ben stood calmly before the Council, and Jaster couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked than the first time they’d met. His eyes were not nearly as shadowed, and he was actually near a healthy weight. Ironically, he looked even younger than he had then, now that he seemed to be carrying fewer burdens.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said politely, nodding to them. Jaster nodded in return. “I have information for you on the current whereabouts of _Kyr’tsad._ ”

Jaster frowned as murmuring started, and he held up a hand for silence. “How did you come by it?”

Ben smiled tightly. “A vision.”

“Ah,” Jaster said flatly. Venn had told them that Ben had visions—some came true, and others did not. Some were warnings, and could be changed, while others were inevitable. He felt the skepticism from the others, but nodded to Ben. “Tell us what you saw.”

“Concord Dawn,” he answered immediately. Jaster raised an eyebrow at Montross, who colored slightly. He had insisted that his sources said _Kyr’tsad_ had fled to Kalevala, but Jaster thought the evidence pointed to Concord Dawn. “There was a name: Jango Fett. He is important—or, he will be.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Clan Fett has many members on Concord Dawn,” he hummed. “But since you have a first name, we should be able to find them without much trouble. What did you see?”

“A battle,” he said slowly. “ _Kyr’tsad_ took heavy losses, and you thought them dead and gone. They weren’t, however, merely retreating to the shadows, for now.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll send everyone who’s available to Concord Dawn tomorrow morning. We’ll find the Fetts you saw.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, bowing his head as if he wasn’t the one doing _them_ a favor, warning them. It was one of the many reasons Jaster had come to like him. “I do have one request.” Jaster waved a hand in invitation. “I’m sure you’ve heard the good news?”

“Yes, you’re being cleared. Congratulations,” Jaster said. It hit him, then—he hadn’t thought of it in _years,_ but Lark _had_ promised that Ben could leave, and take Ob’ika with him, once the _mir’baar’ur_ cleared him. He felt unease, almost dread, pooling in his belly.

He needn’t have worried, because the next words out of Ben’s mouth were: “Since I’ve been cleared, I would like to go with you to Concord Dawn.”

Another round of murmuring went up at that. It had only been about eighteen months ago that Ben had been cleared to spar, and the man was an absolute _menace._ He refused to use his _Jetii’kad_ when he sparred against any of the _Haat Mando’ade,_ and he was good without it, but what Jaster saw from the man’s practice against droids was damned impressive.

Jaster looked at him for a long moment before tilting his head thoughtfully. “You wish to fight with us.”

“ _Elek._ ”

“Is this is a one-mission request?” Jaster asked, pressing his luck.

“... _nayc, Alor,_ ” Ben answered slowly. Jaster felt a little thrum of pleasure at the man he tentatively considered a friend acknowledging his title. “I have sought counsel from the Force for the last few years on the path before me. The Force is clear: I was brought here, to Mandalore, for a _reason._ There will, eventually, be other places I must go, but I will return, as long as you will accept me back.”

Jaster studied him for a long moment. So Ben wanted to stay, and he wanted to fight with them. Jaster rose slowly from his seat, walking around the long table, his advisors waiting with bated breath for his answer. Jaster stopped just in front of Ben, the man turning fully to him. There was a bright, fiery spark to his eyes, and Jaster knew, then, what he was planning.

He had made this official business so that _everyone_ would witness this moment. Ben knew what Jaster would ask, and Jaster, staring into his eyes, already knew his answer.

“Will you swear?” he asked. The air around them seemed to fill with an electric charge of anticipation, and then Ben, with his gaze never leaving Jaster’s, went down to one knee and pressed his right fist over his chest.

“ _Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal Mand’alor: an vencuyan mhi._ ”

Jaster grinned at him, and Ben grinned back. “ _Ke’moti, Mando’ad._ ” He held out a hand, and Ben clasped it, hand-to-wrist. Jaster slapped him on the back with his other hand. “We’ll need to see the armorer immediately, if we’re to get you _beskar’gam_ in time. Give some thought to your colors?”

Ben’s grin was toothy. “I already know what I’d like.”

* * *

Ben looked damn good in _beskar’gam,_ Jaster thought—he looked like a proper _Mando’ad,_ now. He wore it as though he was already used to it, the weight a second skin. He had chosen his colors well, too: the armor was mostly green, for duty, with a black mythosaur on his right pauldron, for justice. The edges were trimmed in white, for new beginnings. _Cin vhetin._

But he _really_ didn’t envy his friend right now, grateful for once that he _didn’t_ have any children of his own as he watched five-year-old, normally perfectly behaved and blessedly calm, Obi-Wan on the verge of a tantrum.

“I wanna go with _you, buir!_ ”

“Ob’ika…” Ben sighed, crouching down. “Did someone dishonor me by giving you your _verdgoten_ already?” Jaster smothered a laugh, already realizing where Ben was going with this. Obi-Wan, however, did not, and his eyes widened.

“ _Nayc!_ Of course not!”

“Then you can’t come with me,” Ben said, nodding as though this was quite reasonable. Obi-Wan did not agree.

“But I can _do stuff!_ Stuff that nobody else can,” Obi-Wan insisted. “I can _help!_ ”

Ben nodded. “Yes, you can. When you’re older, and you’ve had more training. But for now, _verd’ika,_ I have another very important job for you.” Obi-Wan straightened up at that, and Ben studied him for a moment to make sure he was paying attention. “I’ve been cleared by _Mir’baar’ur_ Tala. We can move together now, to a proper home. While I’m gone, she offered to take you to see the potential houses. I’m trusting you to pick the right one for us, and help them move us in, alright?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide again. “Really? _I_ get to pick?”

“You get to pick,” Ben confirmed, nodding. Obi-Wan nodded back solemnly.

“I’ll listen to the Force, and pick the one it says is good,” Obi-Wan promised. Ben nodded again.

“That’s all I can ask, Ob’ika. We should be back in a few weeks at the most, alright?” Obi-Wan pouted slightly again, but nodded. “I’ll comm when I can. Be good for your _ba’vodu._ ”

“I will. Don’t get hurt, okay?”

Ben smiled. “I will do my best not to.”

“Pinky promise,” Obi-Wan demanded, putting out his pinky. Ben wrapped his own around it, looking far more solemn than he should for such a moment. Jaster bit the inside of his cheek to clamp down on his laughter—it was an amusing image, a _Mando’ad_ in nearly full _beskar’gam,_ just missing his _buy’ce,_ kneeling and solemnly pinky promising a small child.

“ _Ba’vodu_?” Obi-Wan said when he let go of Ben’s pinky. He looked up at Jaster expectantly, and Jaster tilted his head. Obi-Wan frowned at him, and then held out his pinky. “You have to promise too.”

“ _Wayii,_ ” Jaster sighed, but he stepped forward and knelt as Ben rose. He glanced at his friend, and Ben gave him a shit-eating grin and a shrug. Jaster was going to go hard on him, the next time they sparred.

* * *

They found the homestead quickly enough, and Jaster determined that only four of them would approach the Fett farm. “No need to scare them,” Jaster explained with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not even sure which way they swing. Not like _that,_ Liika, don’t be a child.” He rolled his eyes under the cover of his helmet, waiting for Liika’s snickering to die down. “Half of House Fett is allied with the New Mandalorians. We don’t know if they’ll be friendly to us or not. Keep your guard up, but be polite. Ben, Montross, and Liika, you’re with me. Liika, don’t make me regret bringing you.”

Jaster knocked on the door and waited for an answer; it was late enough in the afternoon that they should be done with the farmwork, and back in the house, not in the fields somewhere.

A pretty woman with olive skin and long, dark hair, curly, but pulled back into a neat braid, answered the door. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then bowed her head, pressing her fist across her chest.

“ _Mand’alor,_ ” she greeted him. Well, Jaster thought with a smile, that certainly settled the matter of whose side they were on.

“Nalia Fett?” he asked, and she nodded. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping further inside to allow them to enter. She showed them to the living room, inviting them to sit. “Please, give me a moment to fetch my _riduur._ ”

Jaster nodded, and she disappeared up the stairs. A moment later, a young girl, probably a teenager, left the kitchen. She was the spitting image of her mother.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” Jaster called, pulling off his helmet. The others slowly did the same, following his lead. He smiled at her. “Come.” She came immediately, standing just in front of him. She pressed her fist to her chest.

“ _Mand’alor!_ It’s really you,” she said, sounding somewhat dazed, a broad smile on her face. “I can’t believe it!”

Jaster chuckled. “Yes, it’s really me. _Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“Arla, Clan and House Fett.”

“Well met, Arla,” Jaster answered. Behind her, he saw movement, and he leaned to the side. There was a younger boy, probably barely a teen, standing there. Jaster beckoned for him to join them as well. He did, though slower than Arla, looking at them with a strangely calm, assessing gaze for someone his age. “ _Su’cuy. Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“Jango, Clan and House Fett,” he answered, pressing his fist to his chest just as his mother and sister had. Jaster grinned at him, and then his gaze flicked to Ben, whose gaze looked a little… faraway, the way Jaster had come to realize he always looked when he was reaching for the Force. One of his visions, maybe.

“ _Mand’alor._ ” Jaster turned to the new voice; this must be Kev Fett. The man pressed his fist to his chest as all the others had, and bowed his head. “What can we do for you?” It was not, Jaster was pleased to note, an idle question. If Jaster asked them to fight _Kyr’tsad,_ they would. He could hear it in the man’s voice, see it in the steel of his eyes and the straightening of his shoulders.

“We have information that _Kyr’tsad_ is near here,” Jaster explained. The Fetts all tensed. “We hope to engage them, but needed to warn you first. The fighting is likely to be close to here, if not on the farmstead itself.”

Kev nodded and turned to his _riduur._ “Take the children to their _ba’buir,_ in Kembaa.”

Nalia raised her chin. “Their _ba’buir_ can come to fetch them himself,” she said flatly. “I am not leaving.”

“Neither am I,” Jango said. Jaster sighed, eyeing the kid again. He had spirit, this one, but he was too karking young.

“How far is Kembaa from here?” Ben asked suddenly.

“Less than ten kliks, about twenty minutes on a speeder,” Kev answered. Ben nodded and turned back to Jango and Arla. He left his position on the couch to kneel in front of them, just about eye-level with Jango.

“There is going to be a hard battle ahead of us,” he told them honestly. “Many _Haat Mando’ade_ will be hurt—no matter how good we all are, _Kyr’tsad_ are very dangerous. We will not come out of this unscathed. It would be a great help to us if you could warn those loyal to the _Mand’alor_ in Kembaa that we will need their assistance, and have medical help waiting for us there. Just as many lives can be saved by good _baar’ur’e_ as an effective _verd._ Can you help with that?”

Jaster smiled. It was an important job, sure, but one that would keep them safe, and away from the fighting. The man was good with children, Jaster had known that for a long time, but every time he watched him interact with _ade,_ it brought a grin to his face.

Both children looked to their parents, who nodded, and then to Jaster. He nodded as well.

“Ben is right: this is a very important job. You know them better than we do, and you know who is loyal to us,” Jaster said. They both nodded eagerly.

“I just got my permit—I can take Jan’ika and I there on one of the speeders tonight, to start getting ready,” Arla said, nodding firmly. “When should we tell them to… expect you?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Ben answered, rising from his crouched position.

Jango still looked unhappy, and Jaster was about to say something to him, but Ben got there first. “Jango, we have a few spare commlinks we can give you, if you’d like to help me get them from the ship?”

Jango nodded slowly and moved to follow Ben. “Arla, you should start packing,” Kev prompted her. She nodded.

“ _‘Lek, buir._ ”

She strode off with the determination of a Mando, and Jaster grinned again. It faded as Kev and Nalia approached.

“We are both trained, _Alor,_ ” Kev said. “We will help you.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Our plan, now that we know where _Kyr’tsad_ is based, is to bait them. That way, we control the battlefield. They’re camped too close to avoid the farmstead, I fear.”

Nalia frowned at him. “This is far more important than our crops, _Alor._ ”

He smiled at her a bit sadly, but nodded. “Once they realize that I’m here, they will not fail to take the bait. Tomorrow, we’re going to land in force, and make our presence known. We’ll make camp near here, and wait for them to attack.”

* * *

In the end, it happened just as Ben had said it would. _Kyr’tsad_ attacked just before dawn, expecting them to still be asleep, but they were awake, and waiting for them.

It was bloody, and brutal. _Kyr’tsad_ had the same training they did, and the same weapons, aside from one very major difference: Ben Kenobi.

No one had ever seen him in a real _fight_ with his _Jetii’kad,_ and few had ever actually watched him spar with the droids in the Keldabe stronghold. Even that did not compare to Ben Kenobi on a battlefield.

He was a whirlwind, he and his _kadau_ both, dancing from place to place, swirling and leaping and flipping over people. His _kadau_ deflected blaster bolts, and he managed to kill at least three _Kyr’tsad_ that Jaster saw himself with their own fire. He seemed to be paying particular attention to Kev and Nalia, covering their backs, which Jaster approved of.

And Jaster knew that he would relish the _horrified gasps_ of _Kyr’tsad_ when Ben had first ignited the _kadau_ for the rest of his days.

Jaster brought out his own _beskad_ and ran it through the gap in one of the _Kry’tsad’s_ armor platings, gutting him. As he fell, Jaster helped him down with a heavy boot to his chest, pulling his _beskad_ back out as he fell with a wet gurgle.

And then a hush fell over the field, and Jaster turned to look—

There was Tor Vizsla, holding the Darksaber.

Jaster turned to face him as the others all made a ring—it was time, then. Single combat, a challenge between the _Mand’alor_ claimed by the _Haat Mando’ade,_ and the _Mand’alor_ claimed by _Kyr’tsad._

Jaster squared up, and then there was a hand on his arm. He looked to the side, frowning under his helmet at Ben. Ben nodded to him and pressed his _Jetii’kad_ into his hands.

“Now it’s a fair fight,” Ben said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Jaster nodded to him, and Ben stepped back.

Vizsla circled, but Jaster wasn’t about to allow _that._ Now that they were finally _here,_ at this moment, he was unwilling to wait any longer, and Jaster launched himself viciously at Vizsla.

Vizsla was well-trained, but it was clear to Jaster quickly that the Darksaber was more often decoration on his belt than a weapon he used. Jaster, meanwhile, had been _required_ to train with a _beskad,_ back when he was a Journeyman Protector. “You must learn to use every weapon that may be at your disposal,” his trainer had said. “You never know when you will need to use a weapon of opportunity, rather than a weapon of your preference.”

He was quick, which helped him to make up for many of his missteps, and Jaster fell into the rhythm of _slash-parry-step-turn_ of ‘saber combat, looking for an opening. He could both hear and feel his blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating thunderously, and he scored a touch to Vizsla’s arm, which seemed to _enrage_ the other man.

Vizsla came at him, then, bringing the Darksaber down in forceful, but rather sloppy strikes. Jaster waited them out, letting him tire himself, and he felt the _Jetii’kad_ in his hands thrumming with power. He snarled and pushed forward, ramming his shoulder into Vizsla—not enough to hurt him, not enough to knock him down, but enough to make him stumble.

Jaster took the opportunity, bringing Ben’s _Jetii’kad_ to bear, and sliced at his abdomen. Vizsla cried out and went down to one knee, dropping the Darksaber as he held his stomach, blood weeping from between his fingers.

He picked up the Darksaber and reignited it, holding both _kadause_ at Vizsla’s throat in an X. “Since you’re already on one knee, you may as well swear, now.” There was an uproar from the crowd, and Vizsla spat blood at his feet. “Very well, then.”

With that, he knocked Vizsla’s head clean off of his shoulders, and it rolled to a stop several feet away. Jaster used his foot to push Vizsla’s body over onto the ground.

There was silence, and Jaster looked up. “Swear to me now, and I promise you all trials.”

After another tense moment, Jaster heard one of the _Kyr’tsad_ scream, and a shot went off, and then two, and they were back in the fight.

 _Kyr’tsad,_ at least, seemed desperate, now, and far too angry to pull themselves together to use any real tactics. The fighting was messier now, more personal, but the _Haat Mando’ade_ did not falter—Jaster had the Darksaber, after all. There were few who would refute his position as rightful _Mand’alor,_ now that he had it. The _Haat Mando’ade’s_ ultimate victory was already assured.

Jaster looked around for Ben, finally seeing him over at the other end of the field. Ben got behind one of the _Kyr’tsad_ and snapped their neck with his bare hands, and then whirled around to the next. He held out his hand, and the man’s blaster flew to him. He shot the still-stunned _Kyr’tsad_ with it, and then began to move towards Jaster.

“ _Vor’e, vod!_ ” Jaster called over the din of the fighting, handing Ben back his _Jetii’kad._ Ben immediately dropped the blaster in favor of the _kadau._

“Good work,” Ben answered, pausing briefly to knock their shoulders together. Suddenly, he tensed. “ **Everyone get** ** _down!_ **”

Jaster obeyed on instinct, and he saw Ben and _Kyr’tsad_ were the only ones still standing upright, the rest of them having flattened themselves.

An explosion went off from somewhere Jaster couldn’t see, but must have been close by as his ears rung uncomfortably, and he felt a surge of _heat._ That would probably hurt, later. Jaster climbed back to his feet, but the few _Kyr’tsad_ who had survived were already in the air, using their jetpacks to flee like the _hut’uun’e_ they were.

“Squads—”

“On it, _Alor,_ ” Montross said, moving to make the rounds of the injured and dead.

Jaster turned back to Ben, who had gone suddenly shock still, staring at charred point on the ground. Jaster grimaced—there were bits of charred, broken armor, bones, blood, and guts littering that area. Ben walked over slowly and picked up two pieces of the armor.

“Kev and Nalia,” he said, just loudly enough to be picked up by his vocorder. He hung his head. Jaster walked over to him and put his hand on the back of Ben’s neck.

“You did everything you could to protect them,” Jaster murmured. “But they knew the risks. It’s why we sent the _ade_ away.” He grimaced and squeezed Ben’s neck lightly. “I’ll tell Jango and Arla myself. It was my call they answered.”

* * *

Arla began weeping immediately, but Jango went still, quiet, and stone-faced. Jaster sighed—he’d probably need _Mir’baar’ur_ Venn’s services, when they took them back to Keldabe, which he had already resolved to do, after speaking first to their _ba’buir._ The man was old, far too old to care for the _ade,_ and the man had warned them off leaving the children with any of the other Fetts in the area.

“We three were the last loyal to you around here,” the man had sighed. “The rest have given up their _beskar’gam,_ as those New Mandalorian _hut’uun’e_ demanded.”

Jaster knelt down, one hand on the Darksaber. “ _Ni ceta, ade._ ”

Arla wept harder at that, but Jango eyed him carefully. “Are they dead? The _shabuire_ who killed them?”

Jaster nodded. “ _Kyr’tsad_ was defeated, and Tor Vizsla is dead. I took his head.” Jango nodded.

“Then _buir_ would say it was worth it,” Jango said, his voice hitching slightly, but he did not start crying. “Can we be alone, please?”

Jaster smiled softly, sadly, at them, and nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

Jaster was having one of the busiest weeks of his _life._ Adonai Kryze had heard the news and reached out, asking him to hold a summit, to try to get the surrender and oaths of those Houses that had been loyal to Vizsla; he still had wounded to worry about, now recovering back in Keldabe; Jango and Arla were still quiet, pale, and sad, which hurt him to watch; Ben was rarely seen, completing the last stages of his move with Obi-Wan (and it pleased Jaster that the _adiik_ had chosen the home closest to Jaster’s own of the options they’d given them).

“Ah, excuse me, _Alor,_ ” Naavik, a young Zabrak who had only completed his _verdgoten_ two years ago. Jaster tried to smile at him, but he wasn’t quite sure how successful he was as Naavik took a half a step back. “There’s an _adiik_ here to see you. The Kenobi kid.”

“Send him in,” Jaster said, his curiosity piqued. Normally where Obi-Wan went, these days, Ben followed close behind.

Obi-Wan pressed his fist against his chest briefly, and then abandoned decorum to throw himself at Jaster. Jaster leaned down to properly pick him up, settling the boy into his lap. Obi-Wan did not loosen the grip around his neck.

“Is everything alright, Ob’ika?” Jaster asked. Obi-Wan made a soft noise.

“I dunno,” he said slowly, drawing back enough to look at Jaster’s face, though he still did not let go of him. “I have to make a choice, and I don’t think I can do it alone, but _buir_ said he can’t help me, because the choice needs to be mine. So I wanted to ask the _Mand’alor,_ ‘cause that’s what you do, right?”

Jaster smiled. “Right you are. What choice is this?”

“ _Buir’s_ always been honest with me about… what I can do,” Obi-Wan said softly. “He said I’m strong in the Force, and I could… I could be a _Jetii._ If I want to.”

Jaster frowned. Ben had sworn to him, and Jaster had thought him sincere. Would he really leave them to go back to the Order?

But Obi-Wan was biting his lip, tears in his eyes, and that look quickly distracted Jaster from that line of thought. “He told me what I’d have to do. I’d have to leave everyone behind, even him. He’d take me to the _Jetiise,_ to Coruscanta, but he’d leave me there and come back. But I’d have to stay with them for as long as I’m a _Jetii,_ and I wouldn’t get to have any attack-ments—”

“Attachments,” Jaster corrected gently. He was well aware of that stipulation of the Order’s, having probed Ben for as much information on the Order has he could get. Despite how being a _Jetii_ had been so painful for him, Ben still spoke of them with obvious fondness. It shouldn’t have surprised Jaster, in retrospect, that he was offering Ob’ika the choice of being a _Jetii_ or not.

“ _‘Lek._ So I wouldn’t… They wouldn’t let me come home a lot,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I wouldn’t get to see you anymore. Or _buir,_ or Jan’ika, or Arl’ika, or _ba’vodu_ Tala, or—”

Jaster noticed his thermos of caff hovering a few inches off his desk and quickly smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan’s hair. “ _Udesii,_ Ob’ika. It’s alright.” He cradled him close to his chest, mindful of his armor, and Obi-Wan buried his face in Jaster’s neck. “How long do you have to make this choice?”

“A few months,” Obi-Wan answered slowly. “ _Buir_ said they only take human _adiik’e_ under six, and I’m already five.”

Jaster hummed. “First, let’s talk through all of the options, okay?” Obi-Wan nodded into his neck and then allowed Jaster to pry him off slightly. He moved them to the sofa he kept in his office—mostly because his council had teased him about keeping an actual sleep couch in there, but he still slept in his office overnight enough that he could justify a horizontal, soft surface—and settled Obi-Wan in front of him, one hand on his leg. Obi-Wan put his own hands on top of Jaster’s. “Now, the first choice is going to the _Jetiise._ What are the pros?”

“They can teach me lots of stuff,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “And I’d get to help the whole galaxy! They can also help with my… the dreams I get.” Obi-Wan shivered, and Jaster squeezed his leg gently. He knew that Obi-Wan was already getting strong, terrifying visions—just like his _buir._ “And… the Force likes the _Jetiise._ It feels… Light, and happy when I think about them. It really likes the idea of _Mando’ade_ and _Jetiise_ being friends, even more than it likes just the _Jetiise!_ ”

That was… something to consider, Jaster thought. He had already considered it, knowing that if anyone could bridge the gap between them and the _Jetiise,_ it would be Ben. But if Obi-Wan became a _Jetii_ as well… There hadn’t been a Mandalorian _Jetii_ since Tarre Vizsla’s day. Wouldn’t that be something?

“And the cons?”

“I’d have to leave you all behind,” Obi-Wan murmured, looking down. He said nothing further, and Jaster hummed.

“And the other option: staying here. What are the pros?”

“Well, I love you,” Obi-Wan said, so matter-of-fact that Jaster had to chuckle.

“We love you, too.”

“And I’d get to see you all the time, and _buir,_ and everybody else,” Obi-Wan said. “And _buir_ said he could teach me some _Jetii_ stuff, but not everything, ‘cause there’s some stuff he didn’t… special?”

“Specialize.”

“ _‘Lek._ There’s some stuff he didn’t… think about a lot,” Obi-Wan said, giving up on the word. It was probably a quotation of what Ben had actually said, Jaster thought with amusement. “And if I’m not with the _Jetiise,_ there wouldn’t be anyone to ask, if we had problems _buir_ didn’t have before, or questions, or if I wanted to learn something he hadn’t been teached.”

“Taught,” Jaster corrected gently.

“Taught,” Obi-Wan repeated, nodding. Jaster hummed.

“Sometimes, we have what seem like impossible choices in front of us,” Jaster murmured. Obi-Wan nodded. “You _want_ to be a _Jetii,_ don’t you?” Obi-Wan nodded again.

“I really do. I just… I’d _miss you,_ I’d miss being _here._ This is _ner yaim,_ ” Obi-Wan said. “I didn’t like it, when you and _buir_ left me behind. I didn’t like you going away from me, and if I go to the _Jetiise,_ I don’t know when I’d get to see you again.”

Jaster hummed. “I think if you left us behind to be a _Jetii,_ then that would be a signal to them that you can let go of attachments,” Jaster said slowly. Obi-Wan frowned curiously at him. “That’s the reason that they discourage their _Jetiise_ from knowing their families—they don’t want them to develop attachments.” But if he’d already demonstrated he was willing to let go, perhaps Jaster could convince them to bend their rules a little.

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Ben said love is good, as long as it’s not selfish. We talked about you going to Concord Dawn without me, and how if I’d told you to stay, or went with you, it wouldn’t be okay. If I’d made you stay, then I would’ve been hurting other people, because they needed you to be there. And if I’d gone with you, then you would’ve both been distracted trying to take care of me, ‘cause it was dangerous. So I couldn’t be selfish, and I had t’ let you go, even though I love you. Is this the same thing?”

“Exactly right, Ob’ika,” Jaster confirmed. “You can still love us, if you become a _Jetii,_ but you can’t be selfish.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, his eyes going teary again. “I think… I think staying here is the selfish choice. I think the Force is trying to tell me that there are other people who _need_ me to be a _Jetii._ ”

Jaster nodded slowly, a plan already forming. “We’ve talked about a lot, and it’s a big decision,” he said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s leg once more. “Why don’t you take a few days to think about it?”

A month later, Jaster found himself on a ship with Ben and a few of his council members, bound for _Coruscanta._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to... I honestly can't tell you what fic I read the thing with Obi-Wan's name meaning "no-one, child of nothing" in, and the river bit, but I did not come up with the idea, and I'm going through my bookmarks to try to find the story so I can properly credit them!
> 
> UPDATE: Thank you, CallToMuster and Carly! Yes, the river and Obi-Wan Kenobi name meaning things came from Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur by ziggyzigzagged.
> 
> Mando'a Key:
> 
> Su cuy'gar, Mandoade. - A polite greeting, literally means "So you're still alive, Mandalorians." Su'cuy is the shortened form  
> Tion'cuyi Haat Mando'ade? - Are you True Mandalorians?  
> Ke'hiibi kaysh. Ni gedeti. - Take him. I beg you.  
> Tion'jor? - Why?  
> Ni kaysh tegaanali. Kaysh dar'buir... - I saved him. His former parent.... (Dar'buir means no longer a parent, a name given to someone who lost that right by abusing their kids, usually.)  
> Dar'Jetii - Sith (literally no longer a Jedi, but used to mean Sith)  
> wey'cuyi Jetii - Wey is a prefix to mean past, and cuyi means to live or to be, so this is just another way of saying no longer a Jedi, but it's not what they say to mean Sith  
> Vor'e. - Thanks  
> Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> hu'tuunla shabuir'e - cowardly jerks (shabuir is stronger than jerk, probably more like asshole as far as connotation goes)  
> mir'baar'ur - mind healer (literally "brain medic")  
> Vor entye - Thank you (literally "I accept a debt")  
> Tion'gar gai? - What's your name?  
> Tiingilar - spicy Mandalorian stew or casserole, depending on what source you're looking at  
> 'Lek, Alor. - Yes, sir.  
> buir - parent  
> ba'buir - grandparent  
> adiik - child aged 3-13  
> ad'ika - affectionate, like saying "kiddo"  
> ikaad - baby  
> ba'ruur'e - medics/healers  
> ade - children  
> vod'ad - cousin (literally "sibling child")  
> Dar'Manda - No longer Mandalorian, extreme insult to a Mandalorian  
> Jetii'kad - lightsaber (literally "Jedi sword")  
> Elek - Yes  
> Nayc - No  
> Ba'jur bal beskar'gam; ara'nov, aliit; Mando'a bal Mand'alor: an vencuyan mhi. - Education and armor; self-defense, family; our language and our leader: all help us survive. (This is the Resol'nare)  
> Ke'moti, Mando'ad. - Rise, Mandalorian.  
> Cin vhetin. - Blank slate/fresh start. Literally "white field"  
> verdgoten - literally "soldier birth," it's the coming of age ritual in Mandalorian culture  
> verd'ika - little soldier  
> Ba'vodu - Uncle (can also mean aunt since Mando'a has no gendered speech)  
> Wayii - Good grief.  
> riduur - spouse  
> hut'uun'e - cowards  
> Ni ceta, ade. - I'm sorry, children. (Ni ceta is the most sincere form of an apology, literally means "I kneel")


	2. Chapter 2

It was a perfectly normal day in the Council Chambers, but everyone (even Master Yoda, who was so rooted in the Living Force he may as well be a talking shrub, Yan thought, rather unkindly) had woken up with a sense of _anticipation_ hanging heavy in the Force around them. Still, the Force had not seen fit to grant them any answers, and so they had proceeded with business as usual, knowing they could do nothing more than wait.

They were going over the latest reports from the ExploraCorps on the ruins they were excavating on Tython when the comm activated, the Council Padawan on duty reaching them.

The poor boy sounded terrified, Yan noted with a frown. “ _E-excuse me, Masters. But there’s, uh… a situation. In the hangar._ ”

“What is it, Padawan?” Plo, the boy’s Master, rumbled gently.

“ _There are_ ** _Mandalorians_** _in the hangar, and they want to talk to you,_ ” he said in a rush.

Yan’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing. _Mandalorians?_ In the _Temple?_

“ _The Knight Guards said that they think one of them is_ ** _the_** Mand’alor,” the Padawan squeaked.

“Bring them here, you must,” Yoda answered for them all. The other Councilors nodded; this was certainly an unusual turn of events, and would explain the strange sensation in the Force that had been looming all day. Yan probed the Force a bit deeper, puzzled to find that he sensed no warning of danger, only… _delight?_

What in the name of the Force was _this?_

They fell silent as they waited for the guests. There were three Mandalorians in full armor: one of the sets was silver, with accents of green and red, and that man wore a red cape. Presumably, this was the _Mand’alor,_ then. One of the others wore red armor with a yellow mythosaur skull on his chest—a Twi’lek, given the lekku sticking out of his helmet. The third wore green _beskar’gam,_ accented by white, with a black mythosaur skull painted on his pauldron; that man was holding a youngling with pale skin, bright eyes, and copper hair, mussed slightly.

It was the child that most drew Yan’s attention, though his gaze did linger on the lightsaber clipped to the _Mand’alor’s_ belt—the Darksaber, presumably. The boy was a ball of pure _Light_ —powerful, certainly, in the Force, though not overly so, he was bright because the Light Side of the Force seemed to… love him, almost. Yan decided that was ridiculous as soon as he had thought it and quickly discarded the notion.

“ _Olaram at Jetii’yaim, Mand’alor,_ ” Yoda said. Yan blinked in surprise—he had not realized his Master knew their language.

The _Mand’alor_ bowed his head. “ _Vor entye, Jetii’alor._ ”

“A Mandalorian in the Temple, there has not been, for a long time,” Yoda hummed. “Yes, a long time. Come to us, why have you?”

“I need to be a _Jetii,_ ” the boy announced, squirming until the man holding him gently set him down. The boy bounded over to stand beside the _Mand’alor._ “The Force says so.”

“Does it, hmm?” Yoda hummed, peering at him. He hopped down from his seat and approached the boy, and Yan barely restrained his snort as Yoda made a show of hunching his back and using his gimmer stick. He was playing up the old, harmless troll act for the Mandalorians, Yan was certain. The man was still a menace in the salle.

The boy nodded, and Yoda studied him. “Uh, can I ask you something?”

“Please do,” Yoda invited him, smiling sleepily at him. The boy flushed.

“What _are_ you?”

The Council burst into laughter at that, and even Yan smiled.

“Know, we do not,” Yoda answered easily. The boy’s eyes went wide. “From a faraway planet, I came, in the Unknown Regions. Sent to the Order, I was, very young. Remember my planet, I do not. Remember most of my people, I do not.” He turned slightly to gesture to Master Yaddle. “The only other known to me, Master Yaddle is.”

“Oh,” the boy breathed.

“From where do you come, hmm?” Yoda asked. “Mandalore?”

“I was born on Stewjon, but my _buir_ took me from my _dar’buir._ She said I was cursed,” he sighed. “They don’t like the Force.”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “No, they do not. Good, it is, that taken from there, you were. Wish to be a Jedi, you say you do?”

“I… I want what the Force wants,” the child said slowly, his brow furrowing as he tried to express himself. “It makes the Force happy when I listen to it.”

Yoda nodded, his ears perking up again. “Yes, yes. Good, that is. Listen to the Force, you already do. A good Jedi, that makes.” He looked up at the Mandalorians. “Your permission, you will give, for him to be tested?”

“Yes,” the man in green answered.

“That’s my _buir,_ ” the boy explained. Yoda nodded.

“I’d like a word with you all, privately, when you’re finished,” the _Mand’alor_ said. The Councilors nodded, and the Mandalorians left. Yoda sat down on the floor in front of the boy, gesturing for him to sit as well.

“Your name, what is?”

“Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel,” the boy answered. Mereel, Yan realized, was the surname of the _Mand’alor_ himself. No wonder he had come with the boy’s parent, if the child was part of his extended family.

“Master Yoda, I am,” he introduced himself.

“How old are you?” Plo asked gently.

“‘M five,” Obi-Wan answered, tilting his head. “Are you a Kel Dor?” Plo nodded. “My _ba’vodu_ Van is a Kel Dor, too. He doesn’t have to wear a _buy’ce_ when he swims, ‘cause he’s already got a breather.”

Plo nodded. “That’s right. It is convenient that way.”

“Is your _yaim_ the right gas?” Obi-Wan asked, looking concerned. “It’s not fair if you have to wear it _all_ the time.”

“It is, and it is kind of you to be concerned,” Plo answered warmly.

“ _Ori’jate!_ ” Obi-Wan answered, smiling at him.

“A game, would you like to play?” Yoda asked. Obi-Wan turned back to him, nodding eagerly.

“Is this the guessing game?” he asked. Yoda nodded slowly. “‘M good at that one! ‘M not so good at meditating, though.” He dropped his voice, clearly trying to whisper to Yoda, and failing badly. “It’s hard to sit still.”

Yoda hummed and nodded. “True, that is, for many younglings. Teach you, we can, if join us, you do.” Obi-Wan nodded, and Mace brought out the datapad, pulling up the picture files.

“Just tell me what you think I’m looking at,” Mace instructed him. Obi-Wan nodded, and Mace hit the button.

“ _Me'sen_ ,” Obi-Wan said immediately. He frowned. “Uh, I forget it in Basic. _Ni n’e._ ”

“A starship, hmm?” Yoda prompted, and Obi-Wan nodded, grinning.

“The next one?”

“ _Gai'ka,_ ” the answer came just as quickly. “A, um, a cup, I think the word is?”

“Yes,” Yoda confirmed, nodding. Obi-Wan smiled at him again, growing more excited with each word Yoda knew.

“One more,” Mace said.

“ _Ikaad,_ ” Obi-Wan said immediately. “A…” He trailed off, looking to Yoda for help.

“A very young youngling,” Yoda supplied.

“A baby,” Saesee added, somewhat exasperated.

“All correct,” Mace hummed. Obi-Wan beamed.

“How feel you?” Yoda asked, tilting his head. The Councilors all opened themselves to the Force, probing at Obi-Wan, but not trying to breach his natural shields. The boy frowned, and closed his eyes, and then there was an echo of quiet surprise in the Force from the Councilors as some of the shields intentionally came down, if a bit clumsily.

 _Hi,_ the boy put out into the Force, reaching for them.

Gentle, delighted greetings were given from the Councilors, and Obi-Wan shone even brighter at their warmth.

_How feel you? See, may we?_

Obi-Wan presented his feelings immediately: he was excited, happy, hopeful, a bit nervous, and sad—but not frightened.

_Sad, why are you?_

Obi-Wan did not answer with words at first, instead pressing into the Force the image to them of a nice little house with a garden out front, and several people’s faces--a man who looked much like Obi-Wan, with copper hair and a neat beard; another man, older, with a thin face, a crooked nose, and streaks of grey at the temples of his dark hair; a woman with light skin, bright green eyes, and blonde hair— _Leaving them._

_Love them, you do._

_Yes._ They felt it, the burst of pure _love_ from the boy, and then the mental equivalent of a sigh. _But_ buir _and the Force say to let go. They’ll always love me, and they’ll always be there for me. They’ll wait for me until I can see them again. But being a_ Jetii _can’t wait. I can’t have both right now._

_Wise, you are._

Obi-Wan sent a vaguely embarrassed, pleased feeling and then brought his shields back up, opening his eyes again.

“Did I do okay?” he asked.

“You did very well,” Plo praised him. Obi-Wan flushed, but preened a little.

“Test your midichlorian count, may we?” Yoda asked. “A small blood sample, it requires.”

Obi-Wan immediately nodded and held out his hand, one finger extended. Mace stepped forward, grabbing the scanner they kept for such occasions in the Chambers, and pricked his finger. He soothed over the small wound with the Force when he’d finished, and Obi-Wan smiled at him.

“Impressive,” Mace murmured. “A little over 13,000.”

“ _Tion’jate?_ ”

“ _Ori’jate,_ ” Yoda returned. Obi-Wan smiled again.

The Councilors all looked around at each other, and then nodded. They were in agreement: the boy would make a fine Jedi. Mace, since he was already standing, strode over to the doors, calling for the other Mandalorians to return.

“ _Jetii’alor_ Yoda said I did _ori’jate,_ ” Obi-Wan immediately reported. His father huffed and ruffled his hair, and the _Mand’alor_ patted his shoulder.

“I had no doubt,” Ben said. Now that he had heard more than one word from the man, Yan frowned at the unexpected High Coruscanti accent coming through the vocorder. That was… unusual, to say the least, for a Mandalorian. Perhaps whoever had taught him Basic had had such an accent.

“A good Jedi, he can make,” Yoda hummed. Obi-Wan beamed, and Yoda turned to smile at him. “Allow the _Mand’alor_ to speak to us, will you?”

“ _‘Lek,_ ” Obi-Wan said, nodding slowly. The Mandalorian Twi’lek stepped forward to take his hand, leaving the boy’s father and the _Mand’alor_ in the room.

Yoda hopped back into his seat, gesturing for the _Mand’alor_ to speak. Slowly, he reached up to pull off his helmet. Yan immediately recognized him as one of the people the child had shown them, the middle-aged man with a crooked nose. The other Mandalorian did not follow suit, remaining in his full armor.

“I understand that Obi-Wan _wishes_ to be a _Jetii,_ and as his father will allow it, I will agree,” he began, shifting to hold his helmet under his left arm. “But we have a request, if he does come to be one of you.”

Yoda waved his gimmer stick in invitation.

“Allow him to be _Mando’ad,_ ” Jaster said simply. “Encourage the _Resol’nare_ in his training.”

Yoda tilted his head, his ears perking up. “Explain to my fellow Jedi, will you?”

“ _Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal Mand’alor,_ ” the man intoned. “Education and armor; self-defense, our family; our language, and our leader.”

The Councilors bristled, and Yoda tapped his stick on the ground, calling for silence.

“Education, of course, provided will be. Armor, we cannot provide, but precedent, there is. Allow others to return to their homes for certain ceremonies, we do. To Kashyyyk, Wookies return at twelve or thirteen, for their _hrrtayyk_. To Shili, Togruta often go, when adults they become, for their first hunt. To Mandalore, we may allow him to go, for his armor, when old enough, he is,” Yoda said breezily. “Self-defense, and defense of others, the Jedi already teach. Our family, he would be, though your family, he will also always be. Speak their native language, many Jedi choose to.” Yoda peered at the _Mand’alor_ critically then. “But to acknowledge another leader—problematic, that may be. Our neutrality, we must maintain.”

“ _What_ neutrality?” the boy’s father said flatly. They turned to look at him, bristling. “Between Republic planets, of course you are neutral. But you serve the Republic, not the galaxy. To allow him to acknowledge a leader who does not align with the _Republic—_ that is where you take issue.” He paused in a silent challenge; Yan imagined the man might be raising an eyebrow at them, underneath the helmet. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong, you are not,” Yoda admitted easily. “Bound to the Republic, we are. Part of the Republic, Mandalore is not.”

“And we won’t be,” the _Mand’alor_ assured them, raising an eyebrow, “but I’m pleased to inform you that tomorrow, the Senate will officially recognize me as the rightful leader of Mandalore. When we first arrived last week, I signed a peace treaty, since there was never a proper one put in place after the cease-fire at the end of the Expansion Wars, and drafted a trade agreement. We’re all but allies, now. To answer my call, to defend Mandalore, would be to aid a friend of your Republic.”

“Work quickly, you do,” Yoda hummed lightly. The Councilors conferred quickly, reaching tentative agreement, and then Yoda nodded. “Very well. Accept your reasoning, we do.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Now, there is one other matter.”

“ _Alor—_ ”

The _Mand’alor_ shot his companion a look, and the man sighed, shaking his head.

“That boy is as good as a son to me,” the _Mand’alor_ admitted. “If he didn’t already have a _buir,_ I would have adopted him in a heartbeat. Be good to him, or I will rain Hel down on your heads. I’ll be checking in.”

The Councilors tensed, aside from Yoda, naturally, who cackled. “The _Manda_ I have come to expect from _Mando’ade,_ that is. Yes, yes—care for him, we will. Care for all Jedi, we do. Our family, they are. A shared family, we will now have, for the first time since Tarre Vizsla.” He paused, then pointed his gimmer stick at the ‘saber on the _Mand’alor’s_ belt. “His ‘saber, that is?”

At the prompt, the _Mand’alor_ took it from his belt and ignited it. They all stared in awe at the black blade, shimmering only slightly around the edges, and then he deactivated it again and reclipped it to his belt.

“I finally claimed the damn thing, and ended the war,” the _Mand’alor_ sighed, grim satisfaction curling around him in the Force. “It was hard-won, I will say that.” He levelled a hard _look_ at Yoda. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Yoda said. “A _Jetii’Manda,_ Obi-Wan will be.”

* * *

“Attention, everyone!” Bear Clan immediately looked up at their creche Master, who clapped her hands, smiling widely. There was an unfamiliar boy beside her, looking at all of them curiously, and Bant sat up straighter. She loved it when new Initiates came to the creche, and this boy looked to be her age! She pursed her lips—no, it was bad to assume he was a boy. She had learned that just last week in her Introductory Etiquette class. “Everyone, please welcome your new crechemate. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

The boy—the _youngling,_ Bant corrected herself pointedly—nodded eagerly, and pressed a closed right fist over his— _xer,_ Bant thought with a sigh; she was terrible at this—chest, bowing xer head. Bant tilted her head—she’d never seen that gesture before. “ _Su cuy’gar, Jetiise!_ ‘M Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel.”

That was also something Bant had never heard before—what was that language? She glanced at Garen, who was probably her best friend, which was sad, because he already had a best friend, Reeft. But that was okay—as a Jedi, Bant knew she should love everyone, whether they loved her back the same or not. Garen shrugged—so he’d never heard it, either.

“Welcome to the Temple, Obi-Wan,” they chorused, and his cheeks pinked as he nodded at them.

“Why don’t you go play, and get to know everyone?” their creche Master suggested, gently pushing him forward. Obi-Wan nodded eagerly and took a few steps, but that was all he was able to move before he was swarmed, everyone asking questions at once.

Obi-Wan laughed and held up his hands. “Can I know your _gai_ \--um, names--first?”

“I’m—”

“My name—”

Bruck and Garen glared at each other, and then Garen waved his hand for Bruck to go first. Bruck puffed up his chest.

“I’m Bruck Chun.”

“Uh, Aalto.”

“Hi, I’m Reeft!” he said excitedly when it was his turn. Garen snickered as his friend bounced on his toes.

“‘M Garen Muln. I wanna be a Knight-Pilot.”

“I’m Bant Eerin,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I was born on Stewjon, but they think the Force is a curse there,” he sighed. Bant blinked in alarm; several of the others gasped, and Obi-Wan nodded seriously. “ _‘Lek._ My name actually really means no-one, child of nobody. Or nothing, maybe, I always forget the last part,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, my _buir—_ my dad—he found me, and he took me to _Manda’yaim._ I came here from there.”

“What’s _Manda’yaim?_ ” Garen asked, tilting his head.

“The planet Mandalore,” Obi-Wan said. Bant’s mouth dropped open, the others radiating similar shock, but Obi-Wan was still speaking, seeming not to notice their reactions. “We say _Manda’yaim_ to mean the planet ‘cause there’s so many other words that sound the same, but mean something different. Mandalore means the whole Mandalore system, and _Manda’yaim_ means the planet, but then there’s also _Mand’alor,_ and that means Jaster, the King.”

“You’re Mandalorian?” Bruck asked, his eyes wide. Obi-Wan nodded.

“‘Course I am. What else would I be?”

“I— but—”

“There hasn’t _been_ a Mandalorian Jedi,” Bant said. Obi-Wan frowned at her.

“ _‘Lek,_ there was! Tarre Vizsla. He created the Darksaber, and went back to _Manda’yaim_ to be _Mand’alor._ ”

Her mouth dropped open. “ _What?_ ”

Obi-Wan nodded. “ _‘Lek,_ it’s a cool story! Lemme tell you…”

In the corner, peeking up from the datapad she’d been pretending to read, Master Shari-Ta smiled in relief. She had worried about how this would go, but apparently she needn’t have bothered. As ever, the innocent curiosity of children won the day.

* * *

“Troubled, you are.” Yan hummed and took a sip of his tea before replying.

“‘Is this the guessing game? I’m good at that one. I’m not so good at meditation.’” Yan looked at Yoda and raised an eyebrow. “The boy has already had some rudimentary training.”

Yoda snorted. “To the Order, Force-sensitive _Mando’ade_ are not sent. Surprise you, does it, that their own system for teaching, they have?”

“That they have their own methods of instruction in Force abilities does not surprise me,” Yan said flatly. “What surprises me is that the child was trained by Mandalorians, and yet he has not touched the Dark.”

Yoda let out an unhappy _hmph,_ and Yan resisted the urge to sigh, instead taking another sip of his tea. That sort of reaction usually signalled a rather lengthy lecture.

“ _Dark,_ they are not all. _People,_ they are, and good and bad there is in them,” Yoda said. “Dangerous warriors they are, yes. But dangerous warriors, the Jedi are also, hmm? And not Dark are we. Not Dark are they all.”

Yan did sigh at that. “Master, I understand the point you are attempting to make, but I do have some understanding of their cultural values. They just ended a civil war that seems to have been fought almost entirely out of revenge killings back and forth between the two sides.”

Yoda outright scowled at that, and Yan grimaced, knowing that the lecture’s length had likely just doubled.

“A poor understanding, you have,” Yoda said flatly. “A _reformer, Mand’alor_ Mereel is. The Supercommando Codex he wrote, to redefine the meaning of following the _Resol’nare._ Refuse the reforms, Death Watch did. A return to Mandalore’s conquerer days, they demanded. So fight, Mereel did, to stop them.

“And _three_ sides there were, Padawan. Not two. Pacifists, the New Mandalorians are. Made peace with them, Mereel has. Force them to fight, he will not, if choose to, they do not. Dark, does he sound?”

Yan frowned, and then bowed his head. “No, Master.”

“A hand in raising Obi-Wan, he has had,” Yoda said. “Apparent, that is. Well, this speaks, of Mereel. Hope, this gives me, for Mandalore’s future.”

Yan nodded slowly; the doubt he harbored was not gone, but it was, admittedly, soothed somewhat--though he still sensed… _something._ Something… illusive, and strange, about these Mandalorians. He put the thought aside for now, resolving to meditate on the matter later. “Still, Master… A _Mandalorian_ Jedi.”

Yoda smiled wanly, his eyes sparkling. “His lightsaber, I will look forward to seeing.”

* * *

Jaster was grateful that they had brought _Mir’ba’ruur_ Venn with them, and that Ben had managed to make it back to the ship before he had his breakdown. He was also grateful that the others had scattered, leaving the three of them alone in the ready room.

“Breathe, Ben,” Venn sighed, and Ben let out a shaky, indignant huff.

“ _Trying,_ ” he gasped out, and Venn snorted.

“You can do better than that,” she teased. “Come on, now. What caused the Anzati War of 327?” Jaster blinked, wondering what sort of technique this was.

“C-challenge to the line of suc-succession,” Ben said, hiccuping slightly, his breathing still too fast. Venn nodded.

“And the shortage of fuel near the Rishi maze ten years ago?”

“Massive solar flare on L-Leritor.”

“One more, Ben. The Treaty of 1128 was signed where?”

“On Kashyyyk.”

“ _Jate._ ” Well, whatever that had been, it seemed to have calmed Ben down, his breathing mostly steady now.

“ _Vor’e,_ ” he said, tipping his head. Venn sighed.

“ _N’entye,_ Ben. You should know that by now. _Me’vaar ti gar?_ ”

“ _Jate,_ ” Ben answered. She clapped him on the shoulder, and then nodded to Jaster.

“He’s all yours, _Alor._ ”

He nodded his thanks and waited until she’d left before sitting down slowly, gesturing for Ben to do the same.

“That must have been difficult,” Jaster murmured. Ben smiled tightly at him.

“I haven’t been back to the Temple in… a long time.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “They didn’t recognize you. I would’ve thought that with their Force sense, they would have, even with your _beskar’gam_ on.” And Ben had left his _Jetii’kad_ on the ship, rather than on his hip, as he always wore it...

Ben shook his head slowly. “ _Beskar_ muffles the Force.”

That, at least, explained why Ben had asked the armorer if he could have another, durasteel _buy’ce._ Jaster had thought that he had wanted a second to be able to test improvements and different settings before working on his primary helmet, since many others did the same. But if it muffled the Force, which he knew Ben needed in a real fight… Jaster frowned. They would have to find some other metal that would work--he wasn’t going to let Ben go into battle with a durasteel _buy’ce._ Any other piece of armor, and he might have let him, but that brain of his was important.

“ _Alor?_ ” Jaster realized he’d been woolgathering at Ben’s prompt, and he sighed.

“You didn’t _want_ them to recognize you.”

“ _Nayc,_ ” Ben admitted quietly. “It would have brought too many questions, and I didn’t want… I didn’t want to risk any of my own past coloring their view of Obi-Wan.”

Jaster frowned deeply at that. “You really think it would? I thought _Jetiise_ were supposed to be open-minded.”

“They are, to a degree. But the first Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizsla is already going to suffer a mountain of extra scrutiny,” Ben sighed. Jaster nodded slowly in understanding.

“Right,” he sighed. He couldn’t fault Ben for his decision not to let them know who he was--it had been hard enough for him just to go back into the Temple. Jaster didn’t want to imagine the breakdown he would have had if he’d actually had a personal conversation with any of those he’d known before. “What other options do we have for a _buy’ce?_ ”

Ben blinked at him and tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Pardon?”

Jaster waved a hand. “If _beskar_ muffles the Force. For your _buy’ce,_ durasteel isn’t going to cut it. That’s for training or test _buy’cese._ What other options do we have?”

Ben shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. The problem has never come up before.” One of his hands reached up, thoughtfully stroking his beard, and Jaster smiled. He seemed to have recovered well enough from his panic attack, and was somewhat successfully distracted from thinking too much about the _Jetiise,_ though his eyes were still suspiciously red. “I could do some research… I know that before the Reformation, there were some non-Jedi military forces that used the Force who wore armor…”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Jaster agreed. “And exactly like the kind of thing the main library in Keldabe will have records of.”

Ben brightened and nodded slowly. “It will be good to have an excuse to remain in Keldabe, for a time.”

Jaster raised an eyebrow. “We would be anyway. There’s still much work to be done, reforming the government. Do you think you’ll have time to help, with this project of yours?”

“Certainly,” Ben agreed easily, nodding. “And I do have some experience in negotiation and politics.”

And Jaster had come to know that when Ben used _that_ tone, that mild-mannered, off-handed way of saying something, he usually meant that he was _exceptionally good_ at the skill in question. He smiled. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in action, then. _Vor’e, vod._ ”

“ _N’entye, Alor._ ”

Jaster nodded once and rose, Ben rising with him. “I should see if Jango and Arla are back from the tour Liika was giving them of Little Keldabe.”

Ben’s eyes went slightly unfocused, and then he nodded. “They are.”

Jaster snorted and shook his head, an amused little grin tugging at his lips. “Then we’d best head out.” He stepped forward and reached out to squeeze Ben’s arm. “He’ll be fine. As I said, I’ll be checking in.”

Ben chuckled and shook his head. “It isn’t _Obi-Wan_ I’m worried about. A _Mandalorian Jedi…_ The Masters are sure to be wringing their hands and wondering what to do with him before long.”

Jaster couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Since he’s _gar ad,_ I think they wouldn’t have known what to do with him anyway, Ben.”

Ben’s face twisted into a rueful little smile at that, and Jaster clapped him on the arm once more before jerking his head towards the door. “Come on. We’d better get underway.”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Ba’ji_ Shari-Ta?” She hummed and looked up from her datapad, smiling softly at Obi-Wan.

“Yes?” Her smile dimmed slightly as he bit his lip, clasping his hands tightly together, a little wave of _nerves_ flowing from him into the Force.

“Can you… I mean… I have to go to Little Keldabe,” he said. Shari-Ta blinked at him, but he was already barreling on, now that he’d worked up the courage to make his request. “Can you please take me there?”

“Why do you need to go to Little Keldabe?” she asked gently. She wondered if he realized that _no_ Jedi ever went to Little Keldabe.

“I’m ten, now,” he explained simply. At her blank look, Obi-Wan frowned. “I have to get my training armor.”

“...your training armor,” Shari-Ta repeated dully. She had _known,_ of course, that Obi-Wan would eventually be returned to Mandalore, once he turned thirteen, to receive his armor— _beskar’gam,_ he called it when he couldn’t manage to keep himself to Basic—but they had not warned her about _this._ Frankly, she had assumed that this particular Mandalorian tradition would be his future Master’s burden.

“ _‘Lek._ We start with durasteel training armor, first, when we turn ten.” Obi-Wan explained, “And I’m ten now, but the armor’s not something I can get in the Temple. But my _buir_ and Jaster know an armorer in Little Keldabe.”

“I see,” Shari-Ta said slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable fact that her charge was on a first name basis with the _Mand’alor,_ as she always did when he mentioned the man. “I would need to ask the Council for permission, first.”

Obi-Wan nodded, brightening somewhat as she tentatively agreed, and then bit his lip again, his eyes going wide, and pleading, and—oh no. Shari-Ta was so _rarely_ able to resist that look. “Maybe you can ask if we can make it a field trip? Like the one we went on to the Xenocultural Museum in the Senate District? That way the whole Clan can come, and more of my _aliit_ can meet each other!”

Shari-Ta hesitated for a moment, and then sighed. She would have to be honest with the boy. “Obi-Wan… Jedi do not _go_ to Little Keldabe. It is likely that an exception will be made for you, given your circumstances, but no Jedi has ever been to Little Keldabe.”

Obi-Wan frowned back at her, tilting his head. “ _Ba’ji_ Yoda said he’s been there before.”

Shari-Ta blinked in surprise, and then sighed. “Master Yoda has lived for many years already, Obi-Wan. It was likely a very long time ago.”

“Oh. But… _why?_ Why don’t _Jetiise_ go to Little Keldabe?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You’ve been learning about the Wars in your history class,” Shari-Ta reminded him gently, and Obi-Wan’s frown became a glower. It had been a difficult term for him, with the focus on the Mandalorian Wars in their history class. It was hard for him to hear about the atrocities his two families had committed against each other, and that was made even more difficult by the scrutiny and unkind whispers of his classmates throughout their lessons. “There has been… tension, between us, since that time. We have found that respecting their space is the best way to peacefully coexist with them.”

“Ignoring each other when you’re only a few kliks away isn’t ‘peacefully coexisting,’ _Ba’ji,_ ” Obi-Wan said flatly. Shari-Ta’s lips twitched in a rueful smile.

“Perhaps not. But… that is the best we have been able to make of the situation,” she said. Obi-Wan’s expression turned thoughtful, then.

“Can you ask if I can talk to the Council myself, please?” he asked. Shari-Ta raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly.

“Of course.”

“ _Vor’e._ ”

“ _N’entye,_ ” Shari-Ta sighed back—Obi-Wan had offered everyone lessons in Mando’a, but she was slower to pick it up than she’d like; languages had never been her forte, and she understood more than she could passably speak, even now. Still, the delighted little grin on his face made her glad that she was at least making some effort.

* * *

Plo smiled beneath his mask at Obi-Wan, and then made sure to reach out in the Force with a warm greeting as well, feeling several of the other Councilors doing the same. The boy was truly a delight. Obi-Wan beamed at them and put his fist over his chest, bowing his head—he never had taken to bowing at the waist, and at this point, none of the Masters bothered to try to correct him anymore.

“Good morning, Initiate,” Mace greeted him.

“Good morning, _Ba’ji_.”

“Come to see us, why have you?” Yoda asked, tilting his head, a pleasant little grin on his face.

“I’m ten now,” Obi-Wan said, as though that explained everything; Yoda nodded along as if it did. “When _Mando’ade_ turn ten, we’re supposed to get our first durasteel training armor. My _buir_ and Jaster told me about an armorer we can go to, in Little Keldabe.”

“Of course we will agree to that,” Plo said, the other Councilors radiating agreement, though some more grudgingly than others.

“ _Vor entye, Ba’ji._ But I had another question,” Obi-Wan said. Mace waved a hand in invitation, and Obi-Wan squirmed slightly before calming himself. “Can Bear Clan go with me? Like a field trip.” There was a moment of silence, and then Obi-Wan started talking again, not giving them any chance to reply. “I thought about it a lot, and I know that _Jetiise_ don’t really go to Little Keldabe, but I know it would be okay! They’re _Mando’ade,_ they won’t hurt _adiik’e._ And we’ve been learning about the Mandalorian Wars in history class, and it’s obvious that nobody knows anything _but_ that about _Mando’ade,_ and that’s not going to change if _Jetiise_ never meet with them! And besides, Jaster said he would warn everyone to be on their best behavior for us.”

Silence fell again, and stretched out longer this time. Obi-Wan squirmed again, his face flushing, and then Yoda laughed.

“A good argument, you make,” Yoda hummed, coaxing a bashful smile from Obi-Wan.

“Whether or not your Clan goes with you, we will, of course, allow you to go,” Mace said slowly. “We will discuss your… proposal, and give you an answer shortly.”

Obi-Wan beamed and bowed his head, pressing his fist over his chest again. “ _Vor’e, Ba’ji._ ” He turned and practically bounced his way out of the Chambers, exuding _hope-happiness-excitement_ into the Force. As soon as the doors shut behind him, Mace sighed and rubbed at his temples.

“We aren’t seriously considering this, are we?” Yarael asked flatly.

“Consider it, we should,” Yaddle said. “Right, Obi-Wan was. An opportunity for us, he is, to better relations with Mandalore. A shared family, we now claim to have, but know each other, we still do not.”

“I agree that Initiate Kenobi presents a rather unique chance to better relations with Mandalore, but I disagree with the idea of starting with children. If something were to go wrong…” Yan trailed off and sighed, shaking his head.

“Especially since Obi-Wan’s agemates have all just finished learning about the Mandalorian Wars, and that will be fresh in their minds,” Jocasta added.

Yoda hummed and tapped his stick on the ground. “To start with children—better, that would be. Safe, they would be. Harm children, _Mando’ade_ do _not._ And trust the word of the _Mand’alor,_ I do. If safety we are promised by him, then safe shall we be. But agree with you, Jocasta, I do: ideal for the younglings, this timing is not.”

“Perhaps a compromise?” Plo suggested. “Surely the armorer will require Initiate Kenobi’s measurements, first. We might invite the armorer here to take the measurements.”

“Taking the opportunity to introduce a Mandalorian who isn’t Initiate Kenobi to the younglings in the environment most comfortable to them,” Adi said thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “Yes, that is a good idea. And it will give us better insight on how the other Initiates might interact with them, and whether it would be wise to send them along to the final appointment.”

“If the Mandalorians would even agree to come,” Yan pointed out. “They would likely feel just as much trepidation about coming to the Temple as most of us would setting foot in the Mandalorian District.”

“Know, we cannot, unless ask, we do,” Yaddle pointed out. She peered at Yoda, tilting her head, her ears flicking. “Ask _Mand’alor_ Mereel, we should. In touch with the armorer, he can put us.”

* * *

Bant stared at the three people in front of her, just barely managing not to gape, open-mouthed, as Garen and Reeft were doing beside her. Bruck and Aalto were on the fringes of their little group, trying and failing to look uninterested, while Master Shari-Ta hovered nearby, looking perfectly calm, but Bant could feel the slight tinge of _nervousness_ around her in the Force.

There were _three Mandalorians_ standing in their creche’s main room, all wearing their full armor, and Obi-Wan standing beside them, smiling widely and bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. Two of the Mandalorians wore black armor, although one was edged in yellow, and the other in red. The third wore red armor, with yellow detail—Bant thought that one was a Twi’lek, given the lekku she could see. All three displayed the stylized mythosaur that Obi-Wan had told them was the symbol of the _Mand’alor,_ and the _Haat Mando’ade._

“ _Su cuy’gar, Jetii’ade,_ ” the Mandalorian at the fore said, one of the Mandalorians in black armor. This one looked and sounded female, although Bant knew better by now than to assume such things, and it was difficult to tell with the armor they were wearing.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” Bant, Garen, and Reeft all chorused. The woman reached up and pulled off her helmet, the other two following suit. She _was_ a woman, or at least looked like one, and a Zabrak. There was one human or near-human man on one side of her, a dark-skinned man with dark hair and a jagged scar on his cheek. The third Mandalorian was a Twi’lek, Bant confirmed, a younger-looking man with pale blue skin and bright eyes.

“I am Mayla, Clan Tenau, House Mereel. She/her/hers,” the woman introduced herself. Bant was grateful that she didn’t make them guess at her pronouns—but Obi-Wan had said something about that, too. Mando’a had no gendered pronouns, and so when they introduced themselves to someone who spoke a different language, they made sure to include them so they wouldn’t have to guess.

“Lark, Clan Kordo, House Mereel. He/him/his,” the human man said, smiling at them all.

“Khivada, Clan Kordo, House Mereel, also he/him/his,” the Twi’lek introduced himself. Bant nodded slowly—he was related to the other man, then. Bant knew adoptions were common for Mandalorians—maybe they were father and son?

After a long moment of silence, Mayla smiled and nodded at them. “And you are…?”

“‘M Garen Muln,” he said. “Ah, he/him/his.”

“Reeft! Same, I’m a him.”

Bant bowed her head, remembering Obi-Wan’s warning not to bow at the waist. “I’m Bant Eerin, she/her/hers. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mayla nodded again to them and flicked her gaze over to Bruck and Aalto, who were still pretending not to notice them. Obi-Wan huffed.

“That’s Bruck and Aalto,” he offered. “He/him/his for both.”

Mayla hummed and nodded again.

“Would you like to sit with us?” Bant asked politely, gesturing to the piles of cushions on the floor. Lark nodded slowly, and he and Khivada went to sit down.

“I must see to my _vod’ad,_ ” Mayla said, nodding to them before turning to Obi-Wan, who nodded eagerly.

“They can watch, if they want to,” he said, and she bowed her head in acceptance before handing her helmet—her _buy’ce,_ Bant knew it was called in Mando’a—to Lark, who set it down gently beside him. He grimaced suddenly and stretched out one leg in front of him, gingerly holding his thigh.

“Were you hurt?” Bant asked, peering at him more carefully, though it was hard to _feel_ anything from him in the Force beyond his basic emotions. That was… strange. Normally, she could sense people’s injuries—Master Shari-Ta told her she would make a good Healer, one day, if that’s what she decided she wanted to do.

Lark waved a hand dismissively. “I was shot on a job. It’s mostly healed, but the leg feels better extended when I’m sitting.” Bant nodded slowly, deciding that he didn’t seem like he needed to go to the Halls of Healing.

“A job?” Garen prompted, his eyes wide and glittering as he looked hopefully at Lark, clearly asking for the story. Lark grinned and looked to Khivada, who smiled back and shrugged.

“This one was about a year ago,” Khivada started, and Obi-Wan spoke up from behind them, now, where he’d stripped down to just his leggings and undertunic, Mayla now circling him and lifting his arms, turning his head, and patting down his legs. Bant knew he was being fitted for his armor, but this was nothing like when they got fitted for new tunics. That was fast, and a droid took the measurements and gave them to the Quartermaster. Bant didn’t even see a scanner in Mayla’s hand.

“Is this the one where _buir_ had to catch Arla?” Obi-Wan asked, and Lark laughed and nodded.

“We’ll get there, _ad’ika._ Don’t spoil it,” he said, and Obi-Wan giggled and nodded. Mayla huffed at the movement and Obi-Wan went still and compliant again. Lark turned back to the rest of them; out of the corner of her eye, Bant saw Master Shari-Ta, now seemingly torn between hovering over Obi-Wan and the rest of them. Bant wished she would relax—couldn’t she feel that there was no danger from these people? It was so obvious! “We had taken a job on Taris—there were _adiik’e_ —children—going missing, but the authorities didn’t seem inclined to do much about it.”

They all frowned at that. “Why not?” Reeft asked, tilting his head.

“They were from the Lower Levels,” Khivada said with a shrug. “It’s not so different from the Upper and Lower Levels of Coruscant in some ways—important politicians on the top, regular citizens on the bottom.” He waved a hand. “The Guard assumed the kids were runaways, so they didn’t look into it much—”

“And ‘cause they weren’t _human_ kids,” Obi-Wan added with poorly-contained disgust before falling quiet again, giving a contrite, wide-eyed look to Mayla, who simply sighed and shook her head. She pushed his arm back down and lifted the other.

“They were speciesist?” Garen asked, frowning.

“A holdover from the last few Wars,” Lark said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s not as bad as it once was, but the fact remains that the Lower Levels are where the majority of the non-humans live on Taris, yes. Anyway, we got to Taris, and spoke to the parents, and that’s when we found out the Black Sun were involved, in addition to two different local gangs…”

* * *

The Mandalorians stayed much longer than they needed to; Mayla was finished measuring Obi-Wan after one story, but then Obi-Wan’s crechemates had looked at them, wide-eyed, and pleaded for more. The famed Mandalorian fondness for children didn’t seem hampered by the fact that these were Jedi younglings, and they capitulated quickly, launching into exciting tales of their exploits. All of the children were drawn in, even Bruck and Aalto; they didn’t stop until it was time for latemeal.

“...would you care to stay for latemeal?” Master Shari-Ta asked, but the Mandalorians shook their heads.

“I have two bottomless pits of my own I will have to go feed,” Mayla explained, sounding fondly exasperated. “And we all came in the same speeder.”

Shari-Ta nodded, looking a bit relieved by their polite rejection, and asked one of the Senior Padawans apprenticed to another creche Master to escort them to the hangar. As they waited for them, Lark knelt down in front of Obi-Wan, handing him something small that she couldn’t quite see.

“ _Cuun ’Alor_ wanted you to have that. You were supposed to have one much earlier, but you know what it was like on _Manda’yaim_ when we first got you there. They were hard to come by, until things calmed down,” he said. Obi-Wan nodded, smiling as he looked down at whatever it was he held in his hand. “ _Rheturcye mhi._ ”

“ _K’oyacyi,_ ” Obi-Wan answered, growing serious. Lark nodded and stood, and then ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair; the boy scowled and tried to tame it back into some semblance of order. Shari-Ta bit back a smile. Lark looked to her and nodded, and she nodded back slowly, wondering if that was some sign of approval.

As they left, Obi-Wan approached her. “That went okay, didn’t it?”

“I think so,” Shari-Ta agreed, and Obi-Wan beamed.

“It’ll only take a week for Mayla to finish my training armor,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you think the Council will agree to let the rest of the Clan go with me?”

“They just might, Obi-Wan. Now, go clean up so we can get to the refectory on time.”

“ _‘Lek, Ba’ji._ ”

* * *

Little Keldabe was a riot of color and unfamiliar noises, and all of the younglings were wide-eyed. Thankfully, most of them were too busy staring at the unfamiliar surroundings to notice that the Masters accompanying them were tense. The entire group received hard stares from the adult Mandalorians, many in full armor, the blank gazes of their helms following them as they walked through the district. But, as _Mand’alor_ Mereel had promised, they were quite safe. There was no sense of _hostility,_ only a deep unease and curiosity. Plo chose to take what he could get, and decided that was a good enough start.

They were met outside of the armorer’s forge by the armorer herself, and two other Mandalorians. Judging from the way that the Bear Clan younglings slowed as they walked, growing more hesitant to approach them, they were not the same Mandalorians who had come to the Temple before.

“ _Su cuy’gar, Mando’ade,_ ” Yoda greeted them cheerfully. The armorer nodded deeply to them, and then all three removed their helmets. Plo got only a moment’s warning from the Force before little Obi-Wan started to dash forward. Plo and Shari-Ta made an aborted move to stop him, but the two Mandalorians on either side of the armorer knelt down and allowed Obi-Wan to crash into them both. The three laughed as they hugged and greeted each other, and Plo relaxed slightly, studying them. They looked very much alike, probably siblings, if he had to guess. They shared the same dark coloring and dark, curly hair, and now, with their helmets off, Plo could sense their honest _delight,_ and he smiled beneath his breather.

“Introduce us, will you?” Yoda hummed, and Obi-Wan drew back, flushing, but he was still grinning broadly.

“Jango, Clan Fett, House Mereel,” the young man introduced himself.

“Arla, Clan Fett, House Mereel,” the girl said. Plo hummed low, under his breath, understanding hitting him: these were the adopted children of the _Mand’alor._ They were something like cousins to Obi-Wan, and the boy had told them it was customary to have clan members with the youngling for these armor appointments. The arrival of the _Mand’alor_ himself on Coruscant, however, would have drawn much more scrutiny, turning this into something more official than a youngling’s first armor presentation should be. Plo briefly wondered why the boy’s father had not come as well, but set the question aside for the moment.

“This is my _Jetii’aliit_ —we’re Bear Clan,” Obi-Wan continued. “This is Bant, and Garen, Reeft, Aalto, and Bruck. And this is _Jetii’ba’ji_ Plo, and _Jetii’Alor_ Yoda.”

All three Mandalorians smiled and nodded at them, and then the armorer gestured them all inside.

The armory was not quite what Plo would have expected. He had assumed it would be a hot, cramped space, what one usually thought of when picturing a forge. But while it was warm, it was not overbearingly so, and the room was spacious and bright, large windows allowing light to come through without allowing what happened inside to be seen from outside, which made sense, given the secrecy surrounding the art of working _beskar._ There were tapestries hung on the walls between armor and weapons racks, intricately woven to show old battles and warriors.

Obi-Wan was practically vibrating with excitement already as Mayla led him away, Jango going with them while Arla stayed with the rest of the Jedi.

“Would you like a tour?” she asked, and the children nodded eagerly, clearly still too shy to speak yet. Arla smiled at them and began explaining the battles that were shown in the tapestries; Plo found it interesting that none of them depicted battles against the Order. If Plo had to guess, he thought they had likely switched them out in anticipation of their visit.

Arla soon ran out of battles to explain, at least in age-appropriate terms, and so with one glance at the two Masters supervising them, she shrugged and started pulling down weapons from the rack, explaining them to the wide-eyed younglings. Plo wondered if he should stop her when she started handing them all vibroblades, but Yoda did not seem alarmed, and so Plo did nothing, merely standing behind them calmly and watching the proceedings. Arla was attentive and careful, and it was clear that she’d chosen vibroblades because of their similarity to a lightsaber. It had been a good choice, and most of the younglings were able to grip them properly the first time, although she gently helped Aalto resettle his hands until his grip was firmer.

Finally, Obi-Wan emerged, and a hush fell over the room as they all stared at him. He was wearing full armor, though it was durasteel and not _beskar,_ not yet, and so Plo could clearly sense Obi-Wan’s _awe_ and _excitement_ and _satisfaction._ He smiled again, taking in the designs painted on the armor. In preparation for this visit, Plo had researched Mandalorian armor customs as well as he could, considering how sacred and secret they held their information, but he had, at least, been able to find a good deal on the various meanings colors held for them. The armor itself was painted black, but on either pauldron sat a red mythosaur skull, and there, on his chest, was the sigil of the Jedi Order, in stark white. Black for justice, red to honor a parent, and white for… new beginnings, or purity, if Plo remembered correctly.

“It suits you, Ob’ika,” Arla said, sounding satisfied.

“That is _so cool,_ ” Garen Muln said, his eyes just as wide as the rest of the younglings’. “Almost makes me wish _I_ was a Mandalorian.”

Obi-Wan laughed, the sound a bit strange through the distortion of his helmet’s vocorder, and then he shook his head. “Look at this!” He turned around, and Plo’s grin widened: there, on his back, they had painted a bear’s head, also in white. “Now you’re all watching my back all the time.”

The other younglings seemed to like that, most of them smiling; Plo frowned as he saw Bruck Chun scowling. He wondered if the boy had some issue with Obi-Wan, but set the thought aside for now. Arla collected the vibroblades from the younglings and clapped her hands together, smiling down at them with a gleam in her eyes that made Plo tense slightly.

“Who wants lunch?”

* * *

“ _Udesii, vod,_ ” Jaster said without looking up from his datapad. Ben huffed at him, but he did, at least, stop pacing. “I’m sure it was fine. We would have heard already if anything went wrong.”

“I know,” Ben sighed, all but throwing himself down on Jaster’s couch, his _beskar’gam_ clinking softly with the movement. “But I don’t care much for surprises.”

Jaster grunted in not-quite-agreement. Ben might have been cleared years ago by the _mir’ba’ruur,_ but there were issues that would follow him for the rest of his life. A certain amount of hypervigilance, jumpiness, nightmares, and, of course, his hatred of surprises. Even those that were sure to be good ones.

And Jaster _was_ sure that this would be a good surprise. When Arla and Jango had commed to tell him that they were on their way back from Coruscanta, he could hear it in their voices. Everything had been fine. Still, he’d known he couldn’t stop Ben from scouring every major holonews outlet (and some of the less reputable ones, too) for any mention of the _Jetiise_ in Little Keldabe, though, as Jaster had expected, there was nothing. Which meant it had been _fine._ No news was good news, after all, but it didn’t surprise him that Ben didn’t share that point of view.

“I trust Jango and Arla,” Jaster said, glancing up at Ben. He quickly clamped down on the smile that threatened to form on his face at the sight of Ben Kenobi, feared warrior, his closest advisor, and closest friend, _pouting._

Ben sighed. “So do I. You know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that nothing like this has been _done_ before, and we have no idea how they would all react—”

“ _Ben._ Breathe,” Jaster ordered, and Ben frowned at him but obediently took a deep breath. Jaster nodded at him in satisfaction. “Better.” Ben’s frown became a scowl, and Jaster sighed. “If _anything_ even remotely interesting had happened, you _know_ the Coruscanti gossip rags wouldn’t have hesitated to pick up the story. You’ve searched through all of them and found nothing. Therefore, _nothing happened._ Alright?”

Ben sighed back and shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. “ _Logically,_ I know that.”

Jaster frowned at him. He _wanted_ to ask what Ben was so afraid of, but the dark, faraway look to the man’s eyes stopped the question from coming out before it could even form. Truthfully, Jaster wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Still, he made a mental note to ask _mir'ba'ruur_ Venn to check in with Ben sometime this week.

“I don’t know what it is that has you so spooked,” Jaster said honestly, “but I can promise that Jango and Arla would have commed _immediately_ if there had been an incident. Trust that if you can’t trust anything else.” Ben sighed and nodded slowly, just a bit more tension draining from his body. “If you need something to distract yourself until the _ade_ return, Adonai sent over the revised proposals for Sundari.”

“Distraction is _my_ tactic,” Ben huffed, but caught the datapad Jaster tossed at him and immediately switched it on. Jaster huffed a laugh and turned back to his own reading. Jango and Arla would arrive soon enough, and Ben would calm down after they confirmed that nothing had happened besides the joyous event of an _adiik_ being fitted for his first _beskar’gam._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! :D Here's a little bit more of this AU. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and subscribed and left kudos, it really warms my heart and keeps the motivation train chugging!
> 
> To anyone who read The Lesson, I *am* still working on that, I promise! But even though I'm mostly recovered from COVID, I still have some COVID brain going on, and it's taking me a while to remember what I was doing with the next arc on that story. Once I piece that together, I'll get the next chapter up. :)
> 
> For now, enjoy more Baby!Obi! :D :D :D

The five days between Jango and Arla sending word that the armor fitting was finished and their arrival back on _Manda’yaim_ were excruciating. Ben knew that Jaster was probably right, and if anything _had_ happened, the holonews would have been all over it. But that didn’t help his nerves.

Ben also knew that Jaster and Tala didn’t understand _why_ he was so anxious to hear good news, all while preparing himself for something awful.

And he knew that Jaster had discreetly commed Tala and asked her to check on him in a more official capacity than their easy friendship had become the last few years.

Still, he would be polite to his friend, and so Ben made them both cups of shig and settled down on one of the low cushions in his living room, waiting for her to speak first.

“Thank you,” she said after taking her first long sip of the shig. “We know each other well enough by now not to have to dance around the point, I think.” Ben nodded his agreement, grateful that they would get to the heart of the matter quickly. “What has you so wound up, Ben? I don’t think it’s just your hatred of surprises.”

The reflexive protest that Jedi didn’t _hate_ died on his tongue, and he sipped at his shig as he tried to think of something to say, some way to explain this. Finally, he sighed and set his cup down, deciding that getting as close to the truth as he could would be best.

“I still have visions, from time to time,” he said slowly. “In… some other time and place, the Order and the _Haat’ade_ were… tricked into seeing each other as enemies. Their meeting became a slaughter.”

Tala frowned at that, eyeing him carefully. “A slaughter? For the _Jetiise,_ or the _Haat’ade?_ ”

“Both,” Ben answered softly. He had been on Melida/Daan when Galidraan happened, but they all learned about it later. It was held up as an example of what _not_ to do, and it had been that massacre that had driven Dooku away from Coruscant, and eventually, away from the Order entirely, losing faith in them and the Senate. And it _had_ been a massacre: of just over two hundred _Haat’ade_ on Galidraan, only _two_ had survived. And of the forty Jedi there, sixteen had lived, though four of them had had permanent injuries, and two of those injured Jedi were never able to return to fieldwork.

“I see,” Tala said slowly. “Ben… You haven’t lost track of what reality you’re in lately, have you?”

“No,” Ben sighed, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t. It’s… simply unsettling.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go yourself,” Tala said. Ben grimaced at that. He had _wanted_ to be there for Obi-Wan’s first armor fitting, as a _buir_ should, but the risks were too great. The more time he spent around other Jedi, the higher the chance they would realize what he was, and they wouldn’t just be able to sense that he was Force-sensitive. He was a Jedi Master, and that sort of understanding of the Force would be clear in his presence, and raise questions he did not wish to answer (and didn’t _know_ how to answer, not without revealing his secrets).

And then there was the matter of Palpatine. Ben honestly wasn’t sure that he could stand to be on the same planet as that man, not now. Not when it was still too soon to act.

Though he couldn’t say any of that to Tala, not when the explanation required would probably see him becoming a patient in her medical ward again, though far less willing, this time. Best to tell a partial truth, then.

“It was for the best,” Ben said. “Coruscant holds too many memories for me. I didn’t want to risk Obi-Wan’s day being spoiled by an incident _I_ caused.”

Tala frowned at that. “ _Vod…_ ”

Ben waved a hand. “I’ll be alright, Tala. As soon as Jango and Arla arrive and confirm that I’ve been worrying over nothing, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“As long as you stay away from Coruscant?” she asked slowly, and Ben nodded. Tala sighed, shaking her head. “An event we _can_ easily avoid, but it… concerns me that we need to.”

Ben frowned at that, and then shook his head slowly. “I’ll be fine, Tala,” Ben assured her. “This is… difficult for me, yes, but reality isn’t blurry for me as it sometimes was before. I know where and when I am. And once Jango and Arla arrive, I’ll get over the lingering fears I have.”

Tala studied him for a long moment and then nodded. “I trust you to know yourself, Ben, and I don’t see any signs that you _don’t_ know your reality. I won’t push you on the rest, for now.” Ben nodded and gave her a small, thankful smile, and they both sipped at their shig for a moment in companionable silence.

Ben hadn’t lied. He _would_ be fine, just as soon as he was reassured that there had been no fighting between the Jedi and the Mandalorians in Little Keldabe, and he knew this was hardly the same situation Galidraan had been. And Galidraan hadn’t happened for another three years, in his last life.

This time around, Ben would see to it that there never was such a massacre. The Order needed Mandalore, just as Mandalore needed the Order, even if neither of them knew it just yet.

* * *

Cin Drallig wasn’t surprised when Initiate Kenobi hung back after the end of his Clan’s lightsaber lesson. It wasn’t _unusual_ for some talented students to backslide in their progress, though generally, that happened during puberty, when their limbs began growing faster than their minds and reflexes could keep up with, and they stumbled over themselves.

It _was_ unusual for an Initiate to suddenly backslide because their movement was now restricted in new ways, and it was unheard of for the reason behind it to be said Initiate insisting on trying to learn their forms in full armor.

Initiate Kenobi waited until everyone else was out of the salle, waving off a few of his friends, and then tugged off his helmet. “Do you have a second, _Ba’ji?_ I… had a question.”

Cin hummed and nodded. “I do, and I think I know what this is about. Your armor is restricting your movement.”

Initiate Kenobi nodded, but he didn’t look upset by that at all. “ _‘Lek._ My _buir_ warned me that might happen. But… I had an idea.” Cin waved a hand in invitation, and the Initiate bit his lip for a moment before speaking again. “I can’t _not_ wear it during ‘saber practice, ‘cause my _beskar’gam_ isn’t going anywhere, but I can’t practice like the rest of my Clan. I thought… There _are_ other _Jetiise_ who wear armor, and practice with their ‘sabers.”

Cin blinked at him. “You mean the Temple Guards?”

“ _‘Lek._ I looked at their armor already, and besides having a flex-plate for the back, it’s not that different from _beskar’gam,_ ” Initiate Kenobi barreled on. “I was thinking I could ask Mayla—the armorer—for a flex-plate when I get resized, but… I was also thinking I could maybe practice with the Temple Guards. Or at least watch them. ‘Cause they’ve already had to change the forms for their armor, right?”

That… was not a terrible idea. Well, in an ideal world, the best idea would be giving up the armor, but Cin couldn’t see that happening. He nodded slowly. “That may be doable. I will speak to the Battlemaster, and the Guards themselves to see if anyone would be willing. In the meantime, perhaps it would be best to enroll you in a different class. Your Clan mates are going to be learning the basics of all of the forms, but until we can account for the changes you will need to make with your armor, I think Soresu and Makashi would be your best options. Ataru is definitely out, for now; the acrobatics would require flexibility that your armor plates won’t allow.”

Initiate Kenobi nodded slowly. “ _‘Lek, Ba’ji. Vor entye._ ”

Cin nodded again slowly. “You’re welcome, Initiate. Now, you’d best be getting back to your creche Master. I will speak to her directly about enrolling you in a Soresu or Makashi class.”

Initiate Kenobi brightened again and bowed his head, crossing his right fist over his chest in what Cin knew was the Mandalorian equivalent of a bow, and he bowed his head in return. Watching the boy go, Cin shook his head.

He had served as a lightsaber instructor for years now, and the current Battlemaster, Micah Giiett, seemed to think him a good future replacement for that role. But even so, he had never encountered an issue like _this_ with one of his students before. Allowing himself one more sigh, Cin decided to head for the communications center. Master Giiett wasn’t on Coruscant, his skills in the field too valuable for him to be Temple-bound for long, even with his positions as a High Councilor and Battlemaster, and he would need to make use of the long-range comms to reach him.

Force knew he needed advice on what to do about this unusual _problem_ of theirs.

* * *

Jango felt a _little_ bit bad about going along with Arla’s idea of making this a surprise when he saw Ben. Normally, his _ba’vodu_ was… composed was probably the best word for it. And neat.

Now, he looked even paler than usual, with faint bruises speaking of restless sleep—or no sleep at all, knowing Ben, who had a tendency to stay up for days at a time when he got too caught up in a project. And his hair was a bit mussed, and he obviously hadn’t trimmed his beard since they’d left.

“Obi-Wan is even more adorable than I remember.” Jango snorted and shook his head in exasperation—of course those would be the first words out of Arla’s mouth.

Ben barked a startled laugh. “ _Su’cuy, Arl’ika. Jan’ika,_ ” he said. Trust Ben to be polite and observe pleasantries even when he was clearly champing at the bit for information. “I take it everything went well?”

“Mostly,” Jango said. “There was a… small incident when the _Jetii’adiik’e_ had lunch in Little Keldabe. One of them, Chun, didn’t listen to our warnings about the sauce.”

“Ah,” Ben said flatly, though there was a bit of mirth in his eyes. “How bad was it?”

“He was a mess,” Arla said, voice shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. “He said, ‘If Obi-Wan can handle that much, so can I.’” Ben groaned and shook his head, and Arla did laugh, then. “I know! We tried to explain to him that he’d never had anything like Mando spice before, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He got one bite in before he started screaming and crying.”

And the _snot_ that had covered him had been ridiculous, Jango remembered with a slight grimace. His nose had run so ridiculously, between the tears and the spice of the pepper sauce. Jango had decided, seeing that, that he didn’t think he could ever be a _buir,_ not if _adiik’e_ were so _snotty._

“That’s not even the best part,” Arla continued. “We gave him a couple of glasses of milk, and he calmed down, and the restaurant offered to make him another bowl, but then the _Jetii’alor,_ Yoda—the little one with the ears—” Jango shook his head again as Arla gestured to either side of her head, and Ben laughed again. “—offered to switch with him. He hadn’t spiced his at all, so we all expected the same thing to happen, but he just sat there and ate it without even reacting. _While_ making eye contact with Initiate Chun, like he was proving some kind of point.”

“Of course he did,” Ben said, a fond sort of smile on his face. Jango wondered if he’d known Yoda, before, when he’d been a _Jetii_ —it was certainly possible, he thought. Yoda seemed very old, so he probably had been at the Temple when Ben had been there. “Well, if that’s the worst that happened, I am quite pleased.”

“Some around Little Keldabe were a little tense, seeing them on the way in, but when they came out and Ob’ika was in his armor, they understood,” Jango said. Ben nodded, relief slumping his shoulders slightly. “Mayla came with us to give them a tour, and everyone was on their best behavior, as promised.”

Even when the kids had started to relax, and that meant they’d asked an endless series of questions of everyone willing to speak to them. Questions about what they all did for a living, whether they wore their armor all the time, where their armor was if they weren’t wearing it at the moment, what did they do for fun—innocent, childish questions. Thinking about it now, Jango realized that had probably helped. The Mandalorian reputation for caring for _ade_ wasn’t unfounded, and even the fact that these had been _Jetii’adiik’e_ hadn’t seemed to matter once they’d started acting like the _adiik’e_ they were.

“I think they made a good impression,” Jango decided to sum up, and Arla nodded her agreement.

“I’m glad. _Vor’e,_ for going to Coruscanta for me,” Ben said, and Arla huffed.

“We would’ve gone even if you were going,” she said. “Ob’ika is _aliit,_ even if he isn’t with us right now.” Ben’s eyes turned a bit misty at that, but his smile was no less genuine. Jango thought he might get a headache trying to puzzle out all of Ben’s complicated feelings, so he decided not to guess at what it might be at that moment that was going through his _ba’vodu’s_ head. “We brought you something. Well, one for you, and one for Jaster.” Arla pulled the datachip out of one of the pockets of her belt and handed it to him. “It’s a message from Ob’ika that he recorded, so you could see the armor colors and not just the blue-wash from a holo.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Ben repeated, tucking the chip into his own pocket before pulling them both into a hug. They hugged him back and didn’t move until Ben did, though he held them a bit tighter and longer than usual. Finally, he pulled back, and looked more like his composed self than he had before, though he was still too pale, and mussed. “Your _buir_ should be out of this Council meeting in about an hour, and I want to be there when you tell him the story about Initiate Chun.”

They nodded and took the unspoken dismissal, happy to give him privacy to watch that video.

* * *

Ben had been so relieved to hear it confirmed that nothing, in fact, had happened, besides Initiate Chun getting a minor ego check. But that relief had quickly turned to _grief_ as he watched the video Obi-Wan had recorded.

He had expected to see Obi-Wan, and he was first in the video. He was clearly somewhere in Little Keldabe, and not the Temple, but Ben couldn’t identify the space; perhaps it was the restaurant, or the forge, though he couldn’t see enough of the background to know. He had chosen his colors well, Ben thought: black for justice, white for new beginnings, and, when worn by a child, for purity, and red to honor his _aliit._

“ _Su’cuy, buir!_ ” Obi-Wan reached up to pull off his helmet, revealing his widely-smiling face, and _oh,_ he was missing one of his bottom teeth, making him look even younger. “I’m sure you can see, but I got my first _beskar’gam_ from Mayla! The _Jetii’ba’jise_ let the entire Bear Clan come with me, and _Jetii’alor_ Yoda and _Jetii’ba’ji_ Plo came too. And all the _Mando’ade_ were nice to us, so you don’t have to worry about that.

“Anyway, since Bear Clan is all here, I wanted you to meet them!”

Ben had not been prepared for that. He sucked in a breath as Obi-Wan picked up the recorder and turned it away from himself, showing such familiar, _young_ faces.

“This is Bruck, and this is Aalto,” Obi-Wan said, and Bruck Chun scowled at the recorder while Aalto waved rather awkwardly. Ben couldn’t quite help the flash of memory, of the waterfall, Bruck slipping, tumbling down, down, down—

“And this is Garen and Reeft. Say hi to my _buir!_ ” Ben sucked in another breath at the sight of them. They had been two of his best friends, just as they were now Obi-Wan’s, and he _remembered_ being ten, in the creche with them, but his last memories of Garen and Reeft were attending their pyres. They had both died in the Clone War, early on, almost two full years before Order 66—

“ _Su’cuy!_ ” Garen and Reeft chorused, and Ben choked on a breath at hearing his old friends’ voices.

The image swiveled again as Obi-Wan turned once more, and Ben lifted a shaking hand to cover his mouth. Oh, _Bant._ She had always been his best friend, always the one who understood him perfectly, even when he did not understand himself. And she, too, hadn’t lived to see Order 66, and now she was _alive_ —

“ _Su’cuy! Ner gai_ Bant,” she said. “Ob’ika _cuyi ner ori’burc’ya!_ ”

“Hey!” Ben heard Garen cry, just out of view. “He’s _my_ best friend!”

“No, he’s not!” Bant protested, looking over to him, her wide eyes narrowed. “You’re _Reeft’s_ best friend!”

“I can have two best friends!”

“I don’t think you know what _best_ means,” Bant said primly, and Ben let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. That was such a _familiar_ argument to him—Bant and Garen had had the same fight in his childhood, too. His heart ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was happiness or grief he felt, or some bittersweet combination of the two.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Obi-Wan sighed, picking up the recorder and turning it back to himself while Bant and Garen continued to squabble good-naturedly in the background. “That’s Bear Clan.” Obi-Wan leaned back to wave at the recorder. “ _K’oyacyi, buir!_ ” He reached for the control, and the image winked out.

Ben slumped back slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. _Force,_ they were all so _young._

And, more importantly, they were all _alive._ Even Bruck Chun.

Ben impulsively pulled down all of his shields, allowing the Force to flow more freely through him than he had since Tattooine, and sighed, both mentally and aloud.

_Thank you. Vor entye. Thank you for bringing them back, for giving us all another chance. Thank you._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos! :D I'm not sure if I feel bad about the feels from the last chapter or not, lol! But I'm glad you all enjoyed it. :)
> 
> I promise I haven't forgotten about the Tarre Ba'ji AU! But for that one, I need to do some "research" first before I can continue from where I left off. It's been about... ten years, maybe, since I read the Jedi Apprentice series, so I'm busting out the books on Melida/Daan and rereading those before I can continue writing that one. :)
> 
> And a couple of questions that were asked in the comments I'd like to answer:
> 
> First, regarding Ben's age. Mentally, he came from the end of Episode VI, but physically, when he arrived in the past, he looked like Episode II Obi-Wan, but with Clone Wars hair. The Force just kind of magicked him alive again, as an adult, so we don't really have an age for him, but he looks like he's around 30ish now. :)
> 
> Second, about Quinlan Vos! He's a few years older than Obi, so he's already a Padawan and therefore out on missions and such. I promise we'll see him later! I have plans for him and Tholme. :D
> 
> Third, about whether Ben is going to do anything about Melida/Daan and other missions that came up in his past/Obi-Wan's possible future... Well, I'll just say that he DID warn Jaster that there would be places he'd have to go, eventually, but he'd always come home... ;)
> 
> PLEASE READ THE END NOTE when you're done with the chapter! :D

Ben used to be very, very good at waiting. He had waited for nineteen years on Tatooine, after all, for Luke to be ready, for the Force to prompt him into action. His patience had been immeasurable, then.

But  _ then,  _ he hadn’t seen the path forward, beyond seeing to Luke’s protection. He had been  _ waiting  _ for the Force to give him direction.

Now, Ben knew what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go, and what he wished to change. He  _ ached  _ with the need to  _ go  _ and  _ do,  _ but there was one small problem: he still didn’t know  _ when  _ he should act on what he knew. Because he didn’t know who had  _ owned  _ Shmi Skywalker before Watto, he would have to  _ wait  _ until Anakin was at least three to find and free them. He didn’t know when Master Ky Narec had been stranded on Rattatak, and found and Claimed Asajj Ventress as his Padawan. He didn’t know when Darth Sidious took Maul to begin training him. He didn’t know when, exactly, the Young had formed on Melida/Daan (though he did know that there was no chance of peace between the Melida and the Daan until the existence of the Young forced them to find common ground). He didn’t know when Sidious had killed his own Sith Master.

And so Ben was, again, spending his years keeping busy while he waited for a signal from the Force. The majority of the time, he had more than enough work to occupy him. The  _ Haat’ade  _ still took plenty of jobs, mostly in the Outer Rim and mostly retrieval ops or putting down slavers, and Ben was happy to go with them. And he had endless work in the Archives to do; the Royal Library held many ‘sabers and holocrons, both Sith and Jedi, from the last wars. But it had been a long time since anyone had been able to open any of them, and so Ben was often called upon to allow them access to the holocrons, which he did gladly, but  _ only  _ for the Jedi holocrons. They knew better by now than to ask him to open the Sith pyramids, though he was in the process of trying to purify one of the bled kyber crystals from a Sith’s blade.

But, some days, like today, Ben found himself at loose ends, and his thoughts unerringly strayed towards his plans, towards the future, and his past. And on such days, he found his patience wanting.

“You’re sighing a lot for someone who’s supposedly meditating,  _ ba’vodu. _ ” Ben sighed again, just because he was feeling a bit petulant, and there were no Jedi around to witness the unbecoming scene, and shook his head.

“I’m not meditating so much as praying for patience.”

Jango barked a laugh at that. “You’re one of the most patient people I know. Who are you praying to, anyway? The  _ ka’ra?  _ Or the Force?”

“It’s all the same,” Ben answered. “The  _ ka’ra,  _ the  _ Manda,  _ those are just aspects of the same Force the  _ Jetiise  _ wield.” Jango hummed and fell silent for a long moment, but didn’t leave the garden.

“ _ Mando’ade  _ don’t like inactivity,” Jango finally said. “And you’re more  _ Mando’ad  _ than  _ Jetii  _ these days. So you’re antsy. Big deal.”

Ben sighed again and opened his eyes, meeting Jango’s gaze. He felt his lips twitch at the sight of Jango as a lanky teen, a far cry from the broad and sturdy wall he would become, lying on a bench with one leg straight out, the other bent at the knee, his folded hands resting on his cuirass, and his head tilted towards Ben. It didn’t make his heart ache, anymore, to see Jango, he realized. Ben saw  _ Jango,  _ his  _ vod’ad  _ now, when he looked at him, and not the ghost of Cody, of Alpha-17, of Rex, and all the others whose names he still recited in Remembrances, when he had the time (the full repetition took eighteen hours, for all of the  _ Vod’e  _ whose names he could remember).

“One should always be mindful of the present,” Ben said when the silence had almost stretched too long to be comfortable. “If one is ‘antsy,’ then that generally means that one’s mind is on the future, rather than the present moment.”

Jango’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and then he frowned slightly before slowly pushing himself up. Ben raised an eyebrow at him as a little touch of nervousness flared from Jango into the Force.

“This is probably a rude question,” Jango said, and Ben chuckled, waving a hand in invitation. No matter what Jango’s question was, there would be no way it would be the most offensive question Ben had ever received. He’d been a High General in the middle of a Galactic War, and press briefings had been mandatory. Reporters, in Ben’s experience, were almost as vicious as the Sith. “...right. Just… I know about how you used to… not know  _ when  _ you were, because of the Force. And when you meditate, you’re using the Force. So how is that supposed to ground you in the present?”

Ben smiled, more because he was pleased by Jango’s interest in the workings of the Force than the question itself. “An understandable question. The confusion was due more to the Force imparting its gifts than anything; the connection is quite different when I use the Force deliberately.”

“It was the visions themselves that were confusing, you mean?” Jango clarified, which was precisely the conclusion that Ben had wanted him to draw, though  _ he  _ had meant the gift of being shoved into his own past. He simply nodded, because it was also a true statement that visions were often confusing, and Jango nodded back. “That makes sense, I guess. But back to my original point: if you’re antsy, we could spar.”

Ben tilted his head, considering the offer. Jango was skilled, but not nearly so much as he had been when Ben had first met him, so long ago and so long from now, on Kamino. Though “met” was probably a generous way of describing that encounter.

Could he spar with Jango? Would he start to see Cody again? Or Alpha-17? He stared at Jango for a long moment, and then smiled. Why not? He could teach the boy a thing or two. Maybe, if he was feeling impish enough, he would even employ Jango’s own moves against him, having learned from Alpha-17 and Cody, who had both been personally trained by the man they called “the Prime.” Not that Jango would know many of those moves yet.

“If you’d like,” Ben said, and feeling a little flare of  _ wickedness,  _ he added, “Do you think you can win?”

Jango gave him a flat look. “We both know I couldn’t, even if you didn’t use your  _ kadau.  _ But it’s better to spar with people who are better than you. It’s how you learn.”

“Right you are, Jan’ika. Shall we?”

* * *

Yan had kept a close eye on Initiate Kenobi’s progress over the years, albeit from afar. But his file was one that Yan read through frequently, and aside from a few minor incidents with Initiate Chun, the boy was a model Initiate. His instructors all described him as an attentive and thoughtful student, and had few negative remarks, save for the fact that, even still, he sometimes slipped into Mando’a without consciously realizing it. Though his astronavigation results were a bit low, but not enough to be concerning.

And Master Drallig’s remarks on his ‘saber ability were quite positive. But even so, the boy was only  _ ten,  _ and there was no way  _ this  _ should have happened.

When Master Giiett had returned to the Temple, he had asked Yan to teach another Makashi class the next term. “It’s been far too long since you’ve had a teaching rotation,” he’d said. “And your Padawan could probably use the time in-Temple to catch up on her own courses.”

It had been that argument that had swayed Yan. He kept a busy mission schedule, often returning only for the required minimum of three days before heading back out, and his missions were usually lengthy, extending for months at a time, usually spent in the Outer Rim with minimal contact with the Temple, and the Council. But Komari was a Senior Padawan, now, which meant that she had only a few classes left to take, but they were far more intensive than others, as they were the most advanced. They would have to be completed in-Temple, unlike her earlier courses.

But when Yan had agreed to teaching a Makashi class, he had assumed it would be the same as the others he had given, full of Senior Padawans and younger Knights. And yet, his class roster was full of Junior Padawans, and one Initiate: Kenobi.

Yan had thought, briefly, about confronting Giiett, but knew that that would only make him seem petulant. He knew himself well enough to know that if Giiett had disclosed his plan, he would not have agreed to it, and so Giiett would feel this small bit of trickery justified. And it was, technically speaking, his own fault for failing to confirm the details before agreeing.

But even though Yan already knew he would do as he had promised and teach them, that did not change the fact that he was  _ terrible  _ with younglings. If he got through the full term without making them all cry, he would count that as a victory, no matter what shape their Makashi was in by then.

He shook his head slightly to clear it; such thoughts were unbecoming of a Jedi Master, and hardly helpful at that moment, as he was already standing in the salle, waiting for his pupils to arrive.

They filtered in slowly, which did not bother him, as Yan was very early. Most of the Padawans arrived with their Masters in tow, and Yan wondered if they intended to stay for the first class; he would not be surprised if they did. It was likely that they, too, knew of his reputation for his astounding lack of ability to interact with children.

Finally, Initiate Kenobi entered, alone, and still a full ten minutes early. The quiet conversations that had been buzzing around the salle from the groups of Masters and Padawans suddenly fell silent. Everyone’s eyes were on the boy, staring at his armor.

Even Yan had to admit that it was… jarring. Not only to see an armored  _ child  _ in the Temple, but also because he had painted the  _ sigil of the Order  _ on  _ Mandalorian armor. _

The boy had to have noticed, but did an admirable job of pretending he hadn’t, simply walking in and picking an empty spot to start stretching lightly. Slowly, conversation resumed, and Yan’s last two students filtered in.

“Now that we are all here,” Yan said, trying not to enjoy the way even the Masters immediately fell silent as he began to speak, “let us begin.”

The Masters began to file out, some more reluctantly than others, but after a few moments, he was left alone with twelve children.

“We will begin simply,” Yan said. “I will perform the first kata for you twice: once at quarter-speed, and again at full speed. Then we will perform it together.” He waited for them all to nod and spared a moment to wonder if Initiate Kenobi would remove his helmet at some point before moving into position at the front of the room.

Yan could perform these katas perfectly without even thinking about it, the muscle memory so ingrained by now, and he took the opportunity to do just that for the first, slowed repetition. As his body went through the motions of the kata, he kept his awareness on his students. There were more than a few who were radiating nervousness far too strongly to actually be able to pay attention, and Yan made a mental note of them, as they were the most likely to begin crying if he misstepped in giving his feedback to them. But most of the children were focusing on his movements, or trying to.

It was a bit of a surprise to feel Initiate Kenobi’s presence almost reaching out for him, and Yan wondered what he was doing for a moment before realization struck. He felt foolish for it—Yan should have recognized what the boy was doing, watching him as much through the Force as with his eyes, feeling the unconscious flow and pull of the Force in his movements, and how he used it to direct his ‘saber. But he supposed he could be excused for failing to see it initially, as younglings rarely thought to do so. His creche Master must have taught the boy well.

He paused for only a moment at the kata’s end before launching into the full-speed version. This time, Yan turned his attention to his work and channeled the Force more consciously, directing it to aid his speed as he would in true combat. He was distantly aware of the combination of rapt attention and nervousness that had filled the salle sliding into unabashed awe, but let it wash over him, focused only on the position of his feet, and the careful, precise movement of his blade.

There was perfect silence when he finished, and Yan nodded to them all. “‘Sabers out. Let us begin.”

Yan went more slowly than he would have with an older group, and he stopped often, instructing them to hold their current position as he went around to fix their grips and stances before returning to the front of the salle to continue the kata; he was pleased that he did not have to correct the same problem for most of them more than once. And it did not escape his notice that Initiate Kenobi watched him carefully as he performed each step, and that he watched him correct the others, and any mistake he had made was usually already corrected by the time Yan got to him. The boy was observant, at least.

It took almost twenty minutes for them to finish this first repetition, and Yan deactivated his ‘saber, gesturing for them all to do the same. He was glad that he had forced Giiett to make these two-hour classes; Force knew they would need all the time he could give them.

“Now that you have an initial feel for Makashi, we will perform the kata open-handed, focusing on our footwork,” Yan said. “Let us begin again.”

* * *

Ben was  _ fairly  _ certain that he was dreaming, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to find himself on Dathomir. He had been there only once, with Anakin, and it had been an… unnerving experience.

He shivered in the cold red mist, the familiar cold of the Dark Side the planet was steeped in raising the hair on the back of his neck. Oddly enough, he found that he was in his  _ beskar’gam,  _ and not Jedi tunics. That was certainly odd, if he was dreaming of the past—

“Come to me.” The voice echoed throughout the wide canyon he was standing in, and Ben stiffened.

“Mother Talzin,” he said, and because Ben Kenobi was nothing if not polite, he added, “Hello there.”

“How interesting,” she replied, still a disembodied, echoing voice. “You know me, and yet, I do not know you. But I sensed you, on  _ Manda’yaim. _ ”

Ben blinked, startled by that. What an odd thing for a figment of a dream to say—unless… This  _ could  _ be a sign from the Force, the signal to begin chasing after Maul and Ventress, or… Well, Ben hardly knew what the Night Sisters’ magicks made possible. It was entirely plausible that she genuinely  _ had  _ felt him when he’d so foolishly and recklessly pulled down his shields, and was now reaching out to his sleeping mind.

Quite clever, actually, and a tactic Ben  _ knew  _ was possible through the Dark Side, as Sidious had inspired nightmares in Anakin to mimic visions. Then those had  _ become  _ self-fulfilling prophecies.

Pulling himself back on topic, Ben said, “Is there something you wanted with me, my lady?”

The Night Mother chuckled, and Ben shivered as the mists swirled around him with the booming sound. “So polite. Yes,  _ Mando’ad.  _ There is something I want from you: knowledge.”

“And what knowledge would that be?” Ben asked slowly. This could either be a very good sign, or a very bad one.

“The question is a simple one, though I sense the answer is not,” Mother Talzin said slowly. “What  _ are you? _ ”

Ben couldn’t help but snort at that, trying to choke down actual laughter. Schooling his expression, since he still didn’t know if Mother Talzin could see him even if he couldn’t see her, he said, “I understand there is an element of balance to your magicks. In the spirit of balance, might I propose an equivalent exchange? Knowledge for knowledge.”

Mother Talzin hummed. “And what knowledge could you wish from us?”

“I seek two children of Dathomir, one a Night Brother, and one a Night Sister. I do not know the name of the former, other than Maul, but I do know he has two younger brothers: Savage and Feral. The other is Asajj Ventress.”

The Night Mother was silent for a long moment at that, and finally asked, “Why?”

“To save them,” Ben said simply. After a nudge from the Force, he added grimly, “From themselves. Help me find them, and I will explain to you ‘what I am.’”

“A fair exchange, perhaps, for one of them,” the Night Mother hummed, and Ben  _ did  _ laugh at that.

“We shall see if you find the price worthy after you have heard the story,” Ben said. “We will start with one of them first, and then I shall give you your answers, and if you find it acceptable, you will point me towards the second.”

“That is fair,  _ Mando’ad, _ ” Mother Talzin said. “You will drink from the Waters of Life before, as will I, to ensure that we are both bound by our word.”

Ben grimaced at that, but knew that there was no way he would be able to get rid of that stipulation. The Force nudged at him again, and he sighed. “Very well, my lady. I accept your terms.”

“Come to me,” Mother Talzin commanded, just as she had at first. “Come to me, so that we may speak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG SHOUT OUT to winter_sunshine! :D I know it's not quite what you suggested, but I'd planned on having Ben go to Dathomir first, and your comment that someone might have sensed him when he took his shields down aligned too nicely not to use, especially since Dathomir is pretty close to Mandalore. Thank you so much for the idea!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments made me squeak and cackle loud enough I bet my neighbors heard it! XD

To say that Bant was stressed would be an understatement. She had _so much practice_ to do in the salles, because she was falling behind in ‘saber class this term; combat was not where her natural talents lay, clearly, but Bant was still determined to learn. Although she was hardly in danger of _failing,_ she was nowhere near the top of the class, as she usually was in other subjects. And Obi-Wan wasn’t even in her class, now, to be able to help her the way they helped in each other in all their other classes (and Garen and Reeft, too, when they deigned to study instead of playing pranks and otherwise goofing off). No, instead, Obi-Wan was in _Master Dooku’s_ class, and Bant had _heard things_ about him. He was a great swordsman, they all knew that, and it would be an honor to learn from him, but Bant heard that he was _mean,_ and he sometimes made full-grown _Knights_ cry with his criticisms. It didn’t help that Bruck was being absolutely _unbearable_ about the fact that Obi-Wan had been the only Initiate allowed into the class.

“I could beat him!” Bruck had insisted to Master Shari-Ta. “I _know_ I could beat Obi-Wan in sparring, so why can’t _I_ be the one to go to Master Dooku’s special class?”

Master Shari-Ta had sighed and shaken her head. “Bruck, what Obi-Wan must do this term is _not_ recommended for Initiates your age. You are meant to spend this time developing the foundations for _all_ of the forms, not to focus on one alone just yet. An exception to the curriculum was made for Obi-Wan because he _cannot participate_ in your normal lessons.”

Bruck had been appeased a bit, at least, when she’d said that, but he still wouldn’t shut up about Obi-Wan. Bant tried to spend the remainder of the length of Obi-Wan’s class—an hour longer than their own lightsaber lessons—studying, but she couldn’t focus over the sound of Bruck’s nattering. Finally, Bant gave up, and decided to help Garen and Reeft try to rebuild a broken mouse droid. Though she had little skill or interest with mechanical things, she could admit that it was nice to have something to do with her hands when she was anxious.

Finally, _finally,_ Obi-Wan was back in the creche, and Bant perked up. She started to smile, but then Obi-Wan huffed and threw himself down on the floor, sprawling out, his limbs spread.

“Obi!” Bant cried out, and immediately raced to him, Garen and Reeft just behind her.

“What’s wrong, _Ob’ika?_ ” Bruck crowed. Bant glared at him, the mocking tone he’d used for Obi-Wan’s nickname grating at her. “Couldn’t handle your special lessons?”

“Are you okay?” Bant asked, peering down at him, Garen and Reeft coming to stand on either side of her, forming a little half-circle around Obi-Wan’s head.

“I’m _tired,_ ” Obi-Wan groaned. “But thank you for your concern, Bruck. I’m good.” Bant giggled at that, and the perfectly polite tone it was delivered in, and Bruck scowled and stomped off, Aalto trailing at his heels.

“How was it?” Garen asked. “Is Master Dooku really as good as they say? Is he mean? Everyone says he’s mean!”

“Slow down, Garen,” Obi-Wan said. He pushed himself up to sit, spun around to face them, and reached up to his helmet. Bant heard the environmental seals hiss, and then he tugged it off. His hair was sweaty, sticking up wildy, mussed from the helmet, and Bant giggled as she sat in front of him. “Master Dooku is _amazing._ When he uses Makashi, the way the Force acts around him is just… _kandosii'la._ And he’s not _mean,_ exactly. He’s just… not very nice.”

“How can you not be mean if you’re not nice?” Reeft asked, and Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“You don’t have to be _nice_ to be kind,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Master Dooku is… He’s really blunt. But everything he tells us is because he wants us to be better, which is kind. And he _was_ trying, I just think he might not be very good with kids. That’s why he doesn’t usually teach classes to Padawans, or in the creche.”

“But he’s had Padawans before,” Bant pointed out slowly. “How can he not be good with kids?”

“I don’t know, he just seemed like he was… Like he _knew_ we’d heard he was mean, and he was trying really hard not to be, but it was hard for him,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging one shoulder and making the plates of his armor _clink_ softly. “But the fact that he was trying at all tells me he’s _not_ mean, he’s just… not used to sparing anyone’s feelings when he’s trying to make a point.”

Bant thought that over for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Kind of like Master Windu?” Obi-Wan nodded, smiling slightly, and Bant smiled back. _That_ she could understand. No one had ever seen Master Windu smile, and he didn’t go out of his way to be _nice,_ exactly, but if any of them had a question, he always made time if they asked him to answer it, and he clearly cared about all the other Jedi, even if he didn’t _say_ so very often.

“I’d better hit the ‘fresher now if I’m going to be ready for latemeal,” Obi-Wan sighed. “ _And_ I still have to clean my armor. Bant, do you want to quiz each other on our Core Worlds History while I do that?”

“That sounds perfect,” Bant agreed, smiling at him. He smiled back, and then raised an eyebrow at Garen and Reeft, looking back and forth between them.

“I’m inviting you two to join us, even though I know you won’t.”

“Hey, we study!”

“ _‘Lek,_ the night before the exam,” Obi-Wan giggled. “And our test isn’t for three more days.”

“That’s true,” Reeft admitted sheepishly, and Garen nodded his agreement.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, still smiling at them. “Go, have fun playing with the droid.” Garen and Reeft made a show of stomping away as if they were offended, but they all knew neither of them meant it, and Bant giggled again. Obi-Wan made to get up, to head for the ‘fresher, and Bant caught his arm.

“I’m glad you like Master Dooku,” Bant said honestly. “I was… a little worried.”

“He’s… demanding,” Obi-Wan admitted, his smile turning a little lopsided, and Bant nodded. This close, she could definitely see how exhausted Obi-Wan was. “But I think this class will make me a _lot_ better. I _know_ Master Dooku has a lot to teach us, and it _is_ an honor to learn from him.” His expression turned exasperated, then, and Bant tilted her head. “It’s going to be a good thing, taking this class, but I just _know_ I’m going to get my _shebs_ kicked.”

Bant giggled again. “ _K’oyacyi,_ Obi.”

He laughed at that and shook his head, a grin making its way back onto his face. “ _K’oyacyi._ ”

* * *

Ben had been expecting Jaster; they were meant to have latemeal together, after all, while they went over the latest reports from Concord Dawn. Ben had even offered to cook, knowing that something homemade might make the news he had to break to his friend a bit more palatable.

Ben had _not_ been expecting Jaster to simply barge in, slam the door behind him, and toss his datapad onto the table before folding his arms over his chest and staring down Ben, his _buy’ce_ still in place.

He tilted his head, but Jaster didn’t move. “Difficult day?”

“Where are you going?” Jaster asked, and Ben blinked at him.

“Pardon?”

“You bought a ship,” Jaster said flatly. “Where are you going?”

Ben sighed. “I had _hoped_ to tell you tonight,” he said. “There is… somewhere I have to go.”

“And you couldn’t take the _Kotir?_ Or the _Laar?_ ” Ben blinked at him again. Those were _twenty-person_ dropships.

“I’m not going out on a campaign,” Ben protested. “It isn’t even a contract. And given who I’m meeting, it would be best if I arrive without a full _traat’aliit._ ”

“ _Tion’vaii, vod_?” Jaster growled, and Ben sighed again.

“I’m going to Dathomir, to meet with the Night Mother. She requested that I come,” Ben said, and then had a moment’s warning from the Force before the pan on the stove behind him burst into flames. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the lid, slammed it over the top, and took it off of the burner, which, hands full, he turned off with a quick application of the Force. “My apologies. I was distracted.”

Jaster huffed and shook his head before unfolding his arms, reaching up to tug off his helmet to scowl at Ben directly. “I don’t like this.”

“You want me to take an escort,” Ben sighed.

“At least a squad,” Jaster agreed, and Ben shook his head.

“ _Nayc._ I will have to meet with her alone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to _go_ alone,” Jaster said. “Take five _verde,_ if not a full squad.” Ah. Jaster was negotiating now. Ben smiled, and Jaster’s scowl deepened. “I’ll make it an order if I must.”

Ben pursed his lips, and then turned away, heading for the front door. Opening it, he lifted the lid from the pan and donated the remains of their now-ruined meal to his garden, knowing the few tookas who had taken up residence there and would likely eat the scraps within minutes. When he turned back to the door, Jaster was standing in his way. Ben sighed again.

“I’ll take Arla,” Ben said. “And _only_ Arla. On the ship that I just purchased.”

“That thing has no weapons to speak of,” Jaster growled.

“ _Precisely,_ ” Ben said. “I am attempting _not_ to insult the Night Mother.”

“What does she want with you? And why would you _agree?_ ” Jaster asked, eyes narrowing slightly. Ben pondered how to answer that, and decided to tell as much of the truth as he could. At least Jaster usually knew when not to pry further.

“What she wants from me is knowledge of a particular aspect of the Force with which I have experience, and she does not,” Ben answered slowly. “And what I want from her is knowledge of a far more mundane, but no less important, kind.”

Jaster frowned at him. “I thought _Jetiise_ guarded their secrets closely.”

“There is little harm in telling her what she wants to know,” Ben admitted. “It was a spontaneous Force event, not influenced by the will of an individual. I doubt even she could recreate it.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “And what you want from her, there’s no other way to get it?”

“I doubt it,” Ben answered honestly. “I’m looking for two Dathomiri.” Jaster nodded slowly.

“I just… don’t trust her,” he said honestly. “Mandalore and Dathomir have a long and complicated history.”

Ben grimaced and nodded. The two had been allies only when they had both been allied with the ancient Sith, and the rest of the time, they were at each others’ throats.

“I understand. But I know what I’m doing, Jaster,” Ben assured him, and Jaster nodded back rather reluctantly. “And I did warn you.”

“What do you mean?” Jaster asked, brow furrowing. Ben laughed.

“When I first swore. I warned you that there would eventually be places I must go,” Ben said, and Jaster groaned, shaking his head.

“That was _years_ ago, _vod,_ ” Jaster grumbled. “You can’t expect me to remember a little detail like that after _five years._ ”

Ben laughed again. “Perhaps not. Were you really so upset just because I was leaving?”

Jaster’s expression smoothed suddenly at that, and Ben frowned. That was the particular sort of face Jaster made when he was going to have to say something unpleasant, and he was trying to hide how much he was dreading it.

“It wasn’t that,” Jaster said. “I thought you were running away.”

Ben frowned. “Surely you realize by now that I’ll come back.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jaster sighed. “It’s… I thought you’d already heard.”

“Heard what?” Ben asked slowly.

“There are _Jetiise_ coming here,” Jaster said, and Ben’s stomach fluttered. “I thought you’d heard they were coming, and you were letting them run you out of your own home. _That_ pissed me off. I… might have jumped to conclusions.”

“...oh,” Ben said dully. “Why? And _who?_ ”

“I don’t know who,” Jaster said, and then shook his head, taking the pan from Ben’s hands and turning to head back into the kitchen, setting it down on the now-cool stove. Ben slowly followed him, the two of them staring at each other for a long moment. Jaster reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “One of the patrols picked up an automated distress call this afternoon. No one on board was awake; there were two of them, knocked out in whatever fight damaged the ship. It wasn’t marked as a _Jetii_ ship, but they found _Jetii’kad’e._ They’re bringing them here for treatment.”

“...oh,” Ben said again. He frowned thoughtfully. He really _should_ go to Mother Talzin as soon as possible; it would be rude to keep her waiting. But, on the other hand, they had hardly specified a date for their meeting, and the _baar’ur’e_ might need his help with them. Force sensitives could be tricky to treat with conventional medicine. “When will they arrive?”

“Later tonight.”

Ben nodded decisively. “I can wait a day or so longer to leave. They may need my assistance.”

Jaster blinked at him, and then sighed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Ben threw up his hands. “You’re upset when you think I’m running away from them, and you’re upset when I offer to stay to help,” he said. “What is it you want from me, _vod?_ ”

Jaster huffed and reached out to clap one of his pauldrons, his fingers curling slightly around the edge, holding him in place. “That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t stay in your home because they were here. I don’t care if you don’t want to _see_ them. In fact, I think it might be better for you if you don’t.” Ben frowned at him, and Jaster sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me that it wouldn’t hurt you to see other _Jetiise_ again.”

Ben tilted his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them. And we’re hardly in the Temple, Jaster. Besides, if they _do_ need my help, then I’m not going to let them suffer simply to spare my own feelings.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jaster agreed, part-rueful and part-fond, and Ben’s lips twitched in a smile. Jaster sighed again and let his hand drop back to his side. “I won’t keep you from the _Jetiise,_ but if you do intend to see them, I _am_ comming Venn to put her on standby.”

Ben nodded. “Fair enough, _vod._ Now, shall we order something in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the Night Mother isn't TOO offended by this delay... ;) Who might the Jedi visitors be?
> 
> Mando'a:  
> kandosii'la - amazing  
> Tion'vaii - where?  
> traat'aliit - squad


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments were delightful to read as always! :D I loved seeing your guesses about who the Jedi would be!

Shari-Ta sighed as she finished reading over the reports from her charges’ instructors for the week and tilted her head to stretch her neck. It was getting rather late, and she had put the Initiates to bed several hours ago. Time for her to follow them, she thought. Rising, she padded down the hall from her office towards her bedroom, but paused before the door to the childrens’ room. The Force lazily prodded at her to check on them; not an emergency, then, but still something she should heed.

She slid the door open a crack and peered into the dark room, more with the Force than her other senses. She smiled, brushing lightly against the little lights: there was Aalto, and Bruck, and Garen and Reeft (who had moved into Garen’s bed again to sleep plastered together), and Bant, but… no Obi-Wan. Shari-Ta sighed again and shook her head as she closed the door. Where could he be?

The Force whispered to her again, and she moved towards the main room. A single light had been turned on, and Obi-Wan sat beneath it, and Shari-Ta paused to smile at the sight. With the light shining down on him, it brightened his red hair and gave him a halo that made him look almost angelic. He truly was an adorable child.

She let the moment pass and watched him: he was cleaning his armor, methodically working on a vambrace, not seeming to have noticed her.

“Obi-Wan?” she called, and his head jerked up, the light catching in his eyes as he blinked at her.

“ _ Ba’ji  _ Shari-Ta! Sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said, and she smiled and came closer.

“It’s alright, youngling. But it is late. Why are you still up?” she asked. If it was because of the armor, and he hadn’t had enough time to clean it, then they would have to take a hard look at his schedule to ensure he could keep up without losing sleep.

Obi-Wan shifted slightly, dropping his eyes back to the vambrace, though he didn’t start polishing again. “I  _ was  _ asleep, but I had… a weird dream.” He shrugged one shoulder jerkily. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up.”

Shari-Ta hummed in understanding. “Dreams pass, in time.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “ _ ‘Lek, Ba’ji.  _ I know. I just need some time before I can sleep again, I think.”

Shari-Ta considered that for a moment. On the one hand, Obi-Wan was one of her more responsible younglings, at least when Bruck wasn’t around. She could likely trust him to go back to bed when he felt he was ready to sleep again. But, on the other hand, Obi-Wan had been known to have visions before, and was rarely disturbed by normal dreams.

“I understand,” she said. “What was your dream about?”

Obi-Wan said nothing at first, frowning down at the vambrace, and then he sighed. “I’m not sure. I was… somewhere else. Another planet that I’ve never been to before, but I know it’s real. It was… creepy, and cold. There was red mist everywhere, and a woman’s voice telling me to come to her.”

Well, that  _ could  _ have been a vision, but if it was, there was too little to act on. Shari-Ta nodded.

“The dream will pass, in time,” she repeated, and Obi-Wan nodded without looking up. “Don’t stay up too late, Obi-Wan.”

“I won’t,  _ Ba’ji. Jate ca. _ ”

* * *

Jaster wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not that Ben wasn’t acting nervous about seeing the  _ Jetiise.  _ He wasn’t pacing, or scowling, simply sitting in the waiting room beside Jaster, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his  _ buy’ce  _ held loosely in his hands, resting on his lap, probably meditating while they waited.

He still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, either, but Ben had insisted when the  _ Jetiise  _ still hadn’t woken up by the following morning. Neither of them had slept, and Jaster was starting to regret that; he might be used to sleepless nights, and the time spent poring over reports had been useful, but he valued his rest, too, and he would’ve liked to be going into this as well-rested and clear-headed as possible. Ben, as ever, seemed to be having no such trouble, but then, he also claimed that meditation could replace sleep, at least in the short-term.

“ _ ‘Alor?  _ We’re ready for you.” Jaster nodded, giving a tight smile to  _ Baar’ur  _ Unixe before turning to Ben, who was already rising.

“Anything new to report?” Jaster asked, the Pantoran man shook his head.

“ _ Nayc.  _ Vital signs are stable, but neither’s stirred yet,” Unixe reported. “We’ve moved one into a tank.”

Jaster frowned at that. “Bad enough for a bacta tank?”

“ _ Nayc, ‘Alor.  _ Air tank. One of them’s a Kel Dor.”

Ben shifted slightly at that, and Jaster vaguely remembered something about a Kel Dor on the Council. He swore viciously in the privacy of his own head, praying to the  _ ka’ra  _ that they didn’t have a karking  _ Councilor  _ in their medcenter.

“ _ Vor’e, _ ” Jaster said, nodding to Unixe. He smiled and nodded back, pressing a fist over his chest before stepping aside to let them into the room. Ben didn’t move, and Jaster leaned over to knock their pauldrons together. “You don’t  _ have  _ to do this,  _ vod. _ ”

Ben shot him a look that clearly said he already knew that, he was going to do it anyway, as they already knew he would. Jaster sighed and waved a hand. Ben finally began moving, and Jaster followed him into the room.

One of the  _ Jetiise  _ was, as promised, a Kel Dor, and, curse Jaster’s luck, the Councilor he remembered. He looked peaceful, sleeping with his mask removed in the tank they’d filled with the proper gases for him, so he could rest more comfortably, if he was even aware enough of his body to be able to feel pain now.

On Ben’s recommendation, they’d kept them in the same room, and their  _ Jetii’kad’e  _ were resting on a rolling tray on the other side of the room, out of reach of their patients in case they woke up confused and hostile, but not far enough away to cause them anxiety, waking up without them. Jaster turned his attention to the other bed, looking at a younger woman he didn’t recognize. She had dark hair done up in braids, and some sort of gold bead on her nose, between her eyes.

“A Chalactan?” Jaster asked, gesturing to the woman. “That looks like one of their Marks.”

Ben nodded, a strange look on his face. “She is. This is Depa Billaba, Jedi Knight, and the Kel Dor is Plo Koon, a Council Master.”

Jaster scowled at that. This whole situation was putting him on edge. Ben had just confirmed that they  _ did  _ have one of the Councilors on their hands, and, more than that, Ben had known both of them on sight. Jaster didn’t know exactly how many  _ Jetiise  _ there were in the galaxy, but he knew that there had to be tens of thousands of them. He didn’t expect Ben to know each one of them by name, and that meant that he likely  _ knew  _ them, or at least knew  _ of  _ them.

He sighed and shook his head to clear it before going to set his  _ buy’ce  _ down on the tray beside the  _ Jetii’kad’e,  _ leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest, watching Ben more than the two  _ Jetiise.  _ Ben looked between them carefully, and then went first to the woman, Billaba, taking one of her limp hands in his. Ben frowned and closed his eyes, and then his expression smoothed out, going almost unnaturally blank, another of the signs that he was using the Force that Jaster had come to recognize over the years. Ben stayed that way, perfectly still, for a long moment, and Jaster continued to watch, until—

Billaba gasped softly and her eyes flew open, and Ben’s other hand gently pushed her shoulder down as she tried to sit up. The woman’s eyes fixed on Ben, and she frowned, no doubt at his armor.

“You’re alright, Knight Billaba,” Ben said firmly. “You’re on  _ Manda’yaim,  _ in Keldabe. One of the  _ Haat’ade  _ medcenters. Do you remember what happened?” Ben let go of the hand he had been holding, but left the hand on her shoulder to gently keep her in place, and discreetly signalled at Jaster for the medics. Jaster tapped at his vambrace, having already tied into the medcenter’s system for now, and knew that they would come quickly once they knew Ben had managed to rouse one of their patients.

“Pirates,” Billaba croaked, and Ben nodded. Billaba turned her head to look at Koon and frowned.

“Master Koon will come out of his healing trance when he’s ready,” Ben assured her, and she nodded slowly. Jaster focused on his breathing for a moment, trying to ignore Ben’s easy use of the term  _ Master.  _ He reminded himself that the  _ Jetiise  _ weren’t slavers, and that wasn’t they way they used the word, but still, the fact that it was so  _ easy  _ for Ben to slip back into those mannerisms bothered him. Ben looked up at the door and then patted Billaba’s shoulder. “The  _ baar’ur _ —healer—is here to look you over.” Billaba nodded slowly, and true to Ben’s word, the door slid open, Unixe reappearing.

The Pantoran smiled at Billaba. “ _ Su cuy’gar, Jetii, _ ” he greeted her. “I’m glad to see you awake.” He advanced on her with a scanner, and Ben retreated to stand near Jaster.

Leaning over to Ben and speaking softly, Jaster asked, “What did you do to wake her?”

“Not much,” he answered just as quietly. “She was in a healing trance, but hadn’t been the one to put herself under; I believe that was Master Koon. Normally, a  _ Jetii’baar’ur  _ would guide them back out of the trance. But seeing as there wasn’t one available…” Ben trailed off and shrugged one shoulder, and Jaster nodded slowly.

“I didn’t realize you know much healing.”

“Some,” Ben conceded, voice light, but his eyes were stormy. Bad memories, then. Jaster made a mental note not to mention that again for a while; knowing Ben and his clearly violent and traumatic past, he’d probably had to learn healing on the job, in actual combat situations with life-and-death stakes.

“Well,  _ Jetii,  _ you’re in surprisingly good shape,” Unixe said cheerfully. “You had a skull fracture and a concussion that are both nearly-healed. How long ago was the injury?”

Billaba was quiet for a moment, and both Ben and Jaster turned their full attention back to her. “What is the date?”

Unixe made a soft noise of discontent at the sound of her scratchy voice and immediately turned around to get her a cup of water, calling the date back over his shoulder. Billaba didn’t respond at first, and Unixe turned back to her and helped her sit up before handing her the water. She sipped at it carefully a few times before smiling at him, looking a bit bemused.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded. “Our shuttle was attacked by suspected pirates four days ago, now. We attempted to jump away, but had underestimated the ship’s damage. We fell out of hyperspace.” She looked over Unixe, and his interesting combination of  _ baar’ur’s  _ tunics covered by  _ beskar  _ vambraces, and then she looked at Ben and Jaster, in nearly-full  _ beskar’gam,  _ save for their  _ buy’cese. _ “We were aiming for Bandomeer. I would guess we fell a bit short.”

Jaster nodded, stepping forward. “ _ Elek.  _ Our patrol found you out near the border.”

“Thank you for your aid,” Billaba said politely, bowing her head. Jaster waved a hand.

“ _ N’entye, _ ” he said, and looked to Unixe. “And the  _ Jetii’ba’ji _ —how is he?”

“He’ll be fine in a few days,” Ben answered instead. “His breather was either damaged or removed at some point; he has oxygen sickness. But between the healing trance and the tank, he should recover quickly. He’ll wake on his own, when he’s healed enough.”

Jaster nodded at that, and Unixe relaxed slightly, smiling. Billaba turned a slightly more appraising look on Ben, and Jaster bristled, but Ben took another step forward.

“I am Ben Kenobi,” he introduced himself, bowing his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Knight Billaba, despite the circumstances.”

Billaba blinked at him and then bowed her head as well. “The pleasure is mine.” She raised her head again, and then frowned thoughtfully. “Kenobi? The name sounds familiar.”

“ _ Ner ad _ —my son—is an Initiate,” Ben said.

“Ah, yes!” A smile grew over her face, and Jaster started to relax slightly. “I haven’t met him yet myself, but I understand that he is the first Initiate ever allowed into one of Master Dooku’s Makashi classes. It’s causing quite a stir.”

Ben barked a laugh, the kind that meant he’d been startled, and Jaster added another name to the list of  _ Jetiise  _ Ben had probably known: Dooku.

“I’ve never heard of Master Dooku teaching a younglings’ class before,” Ben returned, and Billaba chuckled.

“This is his first,” she admitted, and then her smile turned a bit exasperated. “Apparently, Master Dooku and Initiate Kenobi seem to have hit it off. Enough so that Master Dooku’s current Padawan has taken to calling him ‘little brother.’ Though no one can quite tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. Teens, you know.”

Ben laughed again at that, and Jaster tried to force the frown from his face. Billaba didn’t seem to notice the almost manic edge to Ben’s laughter, but Jaster, knowing him quite well by now, certainly did. He wondered what kind of history Ben had with Dooku to make him react like this at the mere mention of the man.

“Padawan Vosa must take care, calling him that,” Ben said. “We  _ Mando’ade  _ take our adoptions rather seriously. She may be in for more than she bargained for.” Billaba chuckled and nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension left her, now confirming that she was safe among friends.

“I’m sure you’d like to comm your Council,” Jaster said into the lull, and Billaba’s eyes snapped to him, as if she’d almost forgotten that he was even in the room. “I can arrange that for you.”

“Thank you,” Billaba said. “That would be much appreciated.” She tilted her head, then, looking more closely at him, and Jaster waited a beat. Sure enough, she straightened slightly and then bowed at the shoulders. “ _ Mand’alor.  _ Forgive me, it took me a moment to place you. I am Depa Billaba, Jedi Knight.”

Jaster nodded back. “No apology necessary. I’m pleased to hear Ob’ika is doing well.” The familiar nickname had been deliberately chosen to reinforce his personal connection to the boy, and he was sure she would pick up on it. Ben shot him a dirty look, and Jaster smirked at him before turning his attention back to Billaba. She looked between the two of them, clearly trying to parse that interaction.

“ _ ‘Alor,  _ why don’t we go to the comms center to arrange a call?” Ben suggested, and Jaster just barely held back a snort. That was his very polite way of trying to separate him from the  _ Jetii,  _ he knew.

“Yes, that would be best. We’ll send someone in with proper clothing for you. Your  _ Jetii’kad _ —” Jaster paused, looking to Ben for the Basic word. His first instinct was always to call it a laser sword, but that tended to make Ben rather grumpy.

“Your lightsaber is just there,” Ben supplied for him, gesturing to the table. Billaba nodded slowly.

“You have my gratitude for your kindness,” she said, and Jaster didn’t bother to contain his snort this time.

“When basic decency is mistaken for kindness, then you know the galaxy is a dark place,” he said, and she blinked, and then peered at him more thoughtfully. He nodded to her. “ _ Jetii. _ ”

Jaster didn’t need the Force to feel the  _ Jetii’s  _ gaze on him as they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were half-right, LOL! One of them is Plo!!! :D :D :D
> 
> I wasn't going to bring Qui-Gon here yet. Poor Ben needs more time before he's anywhere near ready for that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D As always, your comments made me smile!

It was easy, on _Manda’yaim,_ for Ben to forget the consequences of his odd existence. _Manda’yaim_ was familiar, in a way that spoke to his soul of _home._ It was the place where he had first fallen in love, both with a person, and with a culture, and the place his men, the _Vod’e,_ had claimed as their cultural home. But for Ben, it was not, in this time and place, filled with many people familiar to him from _before._ Satine was still far too young to be involved in her father’s affairs, and so he never saw her, and the only familiar face around was Jango, and Ben had grown quite accustomed to seeing Jango Fett’s face a lifetime ago.

Seeing and speaking with Depa Billaba hadn’t shifted his world on its axis, as Ben suspected seeing Qui-Gon Jinn, or Anakin, or Padme might, but the facts of what he had been through had reared their head. The very moment she’d opened her eyes, what Ben had _wanted_ to say was, “I’ve met your Grand-Padawan. He hasn’t been born yet—and neither has your Padawan, come to think of it— but you’ll _adore_ them both.”

And then she had looked at him and seen a not-quite-stranger. To Depa Billaba, in _this_ time and place, he was nothing more than the father of an Initiate. There was no way for her to know what she _had been_ to him (Depa had been the one to spar with him the most frequently, after Qui-Gon’s death, when he had endeavored to teach himself Soresu by trial and error; Depa had been one of the first to invite him to tea after his Council appointment, to make him feel welcome despite the fact that he was inheriting a seat only because there had been a massacre; Depa had sided with Ben, trying to save Ahsoka after the Temple bombing, as confident in Ahsoka’s innocence as Ben himself had been).

To see someone so familiar to him, and have them look at him like a stranger was… strange. Unsettling.

“ _Me’vaar ti gar, vod?_ ” Jaster’s voice dragged Ben from his meandering thoughts, and he blinked at him, Jaster peering at him in concern.

“ _Naas,_ ” he replied reflexively. Jaster outright frowned at him, and Ben waved a hand. “I’m fine, truly. It was… odd, but I’m quite alright. It’s simply been some time since I’ve felt another trained Force-sensitive so near.”

Jaster nodded slowly, accepting the explanation as Ben had known he would. Knowing little of the Force for himself, Jaster had to rely on Ben’s explanations—which were always _technically_ accurate, but not always applicable in the ways Ben implied them to be.

“Alright,” Jaster said slowly. “Let’s go to my office.”

Ben frowned back at him. “I thought we were going to the comms center, to arrange a call with the Council?”

“We aren’t going to the comm center, but we _are_ going to arrange a call with the _Jetiise,_ ” Jaster said, and it rang true in the Force, so Ben simply nodded and began to follow after him. They didn’t speak much on the way there, and when they entered, Jaster motioned for Ben to sit down, and Jaster leaned against his desk, and tapped his vambrace. Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“Jaster,” he said slowly, “do you _really_ mean to tell me that you have a personal line into the Temple that you actually _use_ —” — _and you didn’t tell me about it?_ Ben didn’t get to finish.

“Mand’alor.” Ben fell silent as Mace Windu’s voice answered. “ _This is unexpected. Our usual call isn’t for another week._ ” Ben ticked an eyebrow up at Jaster, who simply shrugged, looking a bit smug.

“ _Jetii’ba’ji_ Windu,” Jaster answered. “And when I call back next week, I’d love to hear more about Ob’ika’s new _Jetii’kad_ class. For now, I called to tell you that we have Billaba and Koon.”

Mace was silent for a moment at that, and Ben suspected that he was likely pulling up their mission roster. The Council didn’t usually worry, after all, until their Knights and Masters were at least two weeks late for their check-ins. Too many Jedi were called by the Force on some other mission not assigned by the Council (as had often been Qui-Gon’s excuse for their lack of time spent in-Temple during Ben’s apprenticeship), or sometimes missions simply ran long, and they were out of range, or any number of other hazards. So that likely meant that Depa and Plo, having only been attacked four days ago, wouldn’t even be listed as MIA yet.

They had lost _so_ many Jedi before the war ever began because of that policy. While the Council’s excuse—that there weren’t enough Jedi to serve the galaxy, let alone go chasing after their own teams that closely—was true, Ben knew that they had neglected their obvious assets: the Service Corps. They were far more numerous, and in every corner of the galaxy. If a Jedi was reported missing in their sector, it would be easy to call upon the Service Corps members nearby to search for them, and would constitute only a brief interruption in their other duties. If they found that there _was_ a problem, and one beyond their own skill to handle, then they could contact the Council for backup. Perhaps Ben should suggest it to them, this time around.

“ _Are they well?_ ” Mace asked after that brief pause, and Jaster hummed. Ben took a breath to calm his spiralling thoughts and refocused on the conversation.

“Billaba is nearly healed, now. She had a nasty skull fracture, and a concussion,” Jaster summarized. “Koon needs more time in the air chamber; he got oxygen sickness. Apparently pirates attacked their shuttle four days ago. We picked up their distress beacon last night, after they tried to jump to Bandomeer and the ship fell out of hyperspace early.”

“ _Thank you for your assistance,_ ” Mace said, sounding relieved more than surprised, at least. But then, if he apparently spoke to Jaster regularly, Mace had likely interacted with him enough to realize that he was a good man. “ _Is their ship salvageable?_ ”

“ _Nayc,_ ” Jaster answered. “Ship’s not worth the cost of a whole new hyperdrive, and that failure also killed the sublights. It’s scrap.”

“ _I see. In that case, I can have a shuttle from the Bandomeer Agricorps outpost pick them up the day after tomorrow,_ ” Mace said, but Jaster was already shaking his head, even though it was a voice-only channel.

“Koon needs more time before he’s moved,” Jaster said. “Probably another two or three full days in the tank at least.”

“That may be accelerated by the healing trance,” Ben pointed out, and Jaster raised an eyebrow at that. It occurred to Ben suddenly that he had not been injured badly enough to be in need of a healing trance in the five years that Jaster had known him, and so he likely knew nothing about them. But Ben’s mind was rather stuck on the fact that it had been _five years,_ and he hadn’t had any grievous injuries or illnesses. He hadn’t had a stretch that good since his Initiate days, last time. How novel.

“ _May I ask who that is?_ ” Mace asked politely.

“Ben Kenobi,” he identified himself, and heard Mace hum in understanding.

“ _Initiate Kenobi’s father,_ ” he said. “ _A pleasure to speak with you again._ ”

“Likewise, Master Windu.” Ben didn’t miss Jaster’s frown at the title, and he rather regretted using it, and not the Mando’a equivalent, but it was a deeply ingrained habit.

“We can always give them a lift to Coruscant, when they’re ready,” Jaster offered. “We have plenty of _Mando’ade_ travelling there now, with the trade agreements in place.”

“ _If you don’t mind hosting them in the meantime, that would be appreciated,_ ” Mace said, and Ben had to cover his mouth with one hand to stop himself from laughing. This was why Mace had always _hated_ politics and negotiation. He was blunt, to a fault at times. It had made him very good friends with Qui-Gon, and given him a very low tolerance for politicking. This kind of deliberate, careful politeness was something he dreaded.

It was Jaster’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him, but Ben simply shook his head and dropped his hand, still smiling. Jaster shrugged and returned his attention to the conversation.

“It’s no trouble,” Jaster said simply. “Ping me with a good time for Billaba to report to the Council. I’m sure all of the _Jetiise_ are aware that we’re allies now, but hearing it and experiencing it are two different things. I’m sure it would put her more at ease to speak to you.”

“ _Indeed,_ ” Mace agreed. “ _Again, you have my thanks._ ”

“ _N’entye. Ret'urcye mhi._ ” Without waiting for a reply, Jaster hung up, and he and Ben stared at each other for a moment.

“I wasn’t aware that you speak to Master Windu on a regular basis,” Ben said flatly. Jaster’s jaw clenched slightly, and Ben frowned, realizing he’d used the Jedi honorific again. He hadn’t quite realized just how _much_ it bothered Jaster until now.

“Every few months for four and a half years,” Jaster answered. Ben’s eyes narrowed, and Jaster shrugged. “It was Yoda, at first. But those conversations always took hours at a time, and I think he realized how much I hated that. He passed me off to Windu, after explaining he’s chosen him to be the next Head of the Order. And I like him better—he’s usually quick about it, no-nonsense. He was more… flowery than usual this time.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “First of all: _technically,_ the Master of the Order _nominates_ their successor, at which point the Council will take a vote. Though seeing as—Yoda—” Ben stumbled momentarily, and decided to omit the title altogether for the moment until he could sort himself out. Jaster certainly noticed, and the slight release of tension around his eyes showed he appreciated the effort. “—has served the Order for several centuries, his word does hold much sway.” He paused at Jaster’s disbelieving look. “What?”

“Several _centuries?_ ” Jaster repeated.

“ _Elek._ Yoda is…” Ben paused, doing the mental math. “Yoda is around eight hundred and fifty, now.” Jaster blinked at him, and Ben shook his head in amusement. “But back to my point: Windu most likely _will_ be the next Ma-Head of the Order—” This time, Jaster’s lips twitched in a smile as he caught himself, and Ben reflexively smiled back before continuing, determined not to lose the point. “—but that can’t be guaranteed. And second, Billaba was Windu’s Padawan Learner.”

Jaster hummed at that, understanding starting to dawn. “He’s essentially her _buir,_ then.” Ben nodded, and Jaster nodded back. “I understand.” They fell silent for a moment while Ben contemplated how to ask his next question without sounding petulant. Thankfully, Jaster spared him from having to. “It isn’t _just_ because of Ob’ika.”

Ben laughed at that. “I didn’t think it was. For the _Mand’alor_ to have a personal line to a high-ranking Councilor… That is a connection that should be carefully maintained and nurtured,” he said, and Jaster nodded, looking a bit relieved that Ben wasn’t upset. Not about that, anyway. But… “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaster raised an eyebrow at him. “Because I know you, Ben. The _Jetiise_ still make you… jumpy, and if you’d known, it would’ve just added another worry to your plate. Unnecessarily, I might add. Windu and I get along fine.”

Ben nodded slowly. He didn’t like the fact that Jaster had apparently hidden this from him to _protect_ him, but he could understand why he’d thought it necessary. Though it did feel… odd to realize that Jaster had a source of information on Obi-Wan beyond the monthly reports the creche sent to any family who wished to remain informed of their child’s progress. He wondered what Jaster might have heard that he hadn’t before deciding it probably wasn’t much. They did allow Obi-Wan his own calls with them, after all—a concession to their inability to assist him in maintaining his Mandalorian culture without contact with his family. Ben supposed it didn’t hurt that Obi-Wan’s innocent messages were also allowing the _Haat’ade_ to learn about the Order. It was doing wonders for the general view on them, and was far more effective than any ad campaign (and Ben had been part of several, during the war; they had done nothing more than make his face even more recognizable).

“ _Vod,_ ” Jaster sighed, and Ben’s eyes snapped back to his face, “if you keep staring off like that, I’m going to comm Venn.”

Ben snorted at that and shrugged one shoulder. “You were going to anyway.”

Jaster sighed again. “You’ve got me there. Sit your _shebs_ down. We’ll go back to the _Jetiise_ once Windu gives us a time, and we have something to tell them.”

* * *

Depa was not sure what to think of her current situation. Once she had gotten over the pain of the splitting headache she’d woken up with (though that was not unexpected, given that the last thing she remembered was Master Plo telling her that she had a skull fracture, and he needed to put her into a healing trance because she was at risk for a brain bleed), and she was able to _think,_ there had been much to think _about._

The Force had felt so _strange_ when she’d first woken, and Depa had enough experience to know that it wasn’t the concussion muddling her senses. At first, she had thought it was the _beskar_ the Mandalorians wore bending the Force around them in strange ways.

And then Depa had realized that it hadn’t been the _beskar,_ at least not entirely. It had been Ben Kenobi, the Initiate’s father. _He_ had been bending the Force around them, extending his own incredibly impressive shielding to the _Mand’alor,_ and so easily that it was probably habit by this point. He had adapted Notice-Me-Not, allowing him to direct Depa’s attention away from the _Mand’alor_ and keep it on himself. As protections went, it was quite inventive, and clearly effective. She had almost forgotten _Mand’alor_ Mereel was even in the room with them, and it had taken her far longer than it should have to recall who he was.

That Ben Kenobi was Force-sensitive was not entirely surprising. It often ran in families, after all. That he had had training made sense as well—few as strong as he was in the Force lived past childhood, after all, if they did not have at least some basic training. But whatever training Ben Kenobi had had, it went far beyond the basics, to allow him to create those sorts of shields.

And she had felt his presence, not that she had realized who it was at first. Depa had been floating in the familiar warmth of the Force they retreated to in a healing trance, and felt the just-as-familiar brush of another warm presence, offering a hand to help her back to the land of the living. It was instinct, by now, to take it, as this was the same process she’d gone through a dozen or so times in the Temple’s Halls of Healing.

But how had Ben Kenobi known to do that? What sort of training had he received, and from whom?

But that was not even the most pressing question in Depa’s mind. No, Depa wondered how he knew so much about the Order. He had recognized Master Dooku’s name, and knew enough to realize how exceptional it was for him to teach a class of younglings. He had known who Master Dooku’s current Padawan was as well.

Truthfully, between his warm, controlled presence, and his knowledge of the Order, Depa had forgotten for a moment that she was speaking with a Mandalorian, and not a Jedi Master.

Who _was_ Ben Kenobi? _What_ was he?

Depa was distracted by a knock on the door, and cleared her throat before calling for them to enter. She blinked at the two children, one human with light hair and bright blue eyes, and the other a Nautolan, who appeared in the doorway, one of them holding a bundle of clothes. The children stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide, and she smiled.

“Hello,” she said, and they just blinked at her again. “My name is Depa.”

“You’re a _Jetii?_ ” the Nautolan asked, and Depa nodded. “Like my _vod?_ ”

“ _Vod?_ ” Depa repeated. The boy turned a helpless look on the girl.

“Sibling,” she translated. “Or cousin. Everyone who’s in the same House is called _vod._ Or good friends, even.”

“ _‘Lek!_ My _vod,_ Obi-Wan.”

“Yes,” Depa said. “Obi-Wan is an Initiate at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.”

“We brought these for you,” the girl said, stepping closer to hand her the bundle of clothes. Depa nodded gratefully at her; she had always disliked medical gowns, and the feeling that she had been undressed and redressed while unconscious, even if she knew it had been a healer.

“Thank you,” Depa said, and the girl nodded back. Though their task was now accomplished, neither one made any move to leave. At least Depa was used to this: the unbridled curiosity of younglings was a galactic constant. Her smile grew wider. “After I’ve dressed, perhaps you might like to stay? I’m sure you have many questions about the Order.”

The children nodded eagerly, and Depa nodded back. Hopefully, these children met other galactic constants, and would be chatty and far more informative than they realized. She had a feeling that drawing information out of Ben Kenobi himself would be a nearly impossible task, but children the galaxy over never knew when to hold their tongues. Perhaps they would be able to provide Depa with the answers she sought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were right to be worried. Depa is too smart for her own good, and Ben was far too careless...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love seeing your comments, they make me squawk with excitement :D Thank you!!

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to think about Komari Vosa. She’d started showing up to some of their ‘saber classes, on alternating days when she wasn’t in her own classes, and acting as _Ba’ji_ Dooku’s assistant. She was a lot like he was, in class, stern and sharp, catching every little mistake they made, and he could see why they were a good pair. But she also made little comments almost teasing him, calling him “little brother.” Obi-Wan had been in the Temple long enough to know she didn’t mean it like _Mando’ade_ meant it. No, she meant _Padawan-_ brother, and Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He couldn’t even tell if she liked _him_ or not.

So he definitely wasn’t sure what to think when Komari stopped him after class one afternoon and invited him to tea. In her quarters, with _Ba’ji_ Dooku, and some other guest.

“Master Dooku invited someone, so I asked if _I_ could invite someone,” Komari said. “He agreed.”

Obi-Wan’s nose scrunched slightly, and he was grateful he hadn’t taken his _buy’ce_ off yet so she couldn’t see it. “And you picked _me?_ ”

Komari snorted and shook her head, the beads in her long braid catching the light. “Obviously. So: tea, tomorrow, after midmeal. I know you’re free, I already checked. Are you coming?”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan agreed slowly, and blinked at the sudden surge of _glee_ from Komari. _That_ was far too strong a reaction simply from getting his agreement. He wondered what kind of prank she was planning on playing, but decided it didn’t matter. He’d already agreed, and Obi-Wan kept his word. “Tomorrow, after midmeal. I’ll be there.”

“I haven’t told you what tower we’re in,” Komari said, sounding amused as she watched him back away slowly. Komari was confusing, and Obi-Wan had a test to study for. He _had_ been planning to study with Bant tomorrow during their free time, but apparently, he would need to do that _now._ Back in the creche. Away from Komari, and her confusing and inappropriate _delight._ She almost felt… feral.

“I can check the Temple directory from my HUD,” Obi-Wan answered, tapping the side of his _buy’ce_ with his knuckles. He was pretty proud of that upgrade; he’d done it mostly by himself, with a little help from Garen. It had taken four different tries, but they’d finally gotten his HUD to interface properly with the Temple ‘Net. “I’ll find you.”

Komari nodded, and didn’t move to follow him as he left, though she did call out, “Don’t be late, little brother!”

Obi-Wan wouldn’t. _Ba’ji_ Dooku didn’t tolerate lateness, he knew that by now. He waved a hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement, trying to turn his thoughts to the test he had to study for, and away from the _bad feeling_ he had about this.

* * *

“—and then Veze’s jetpack _blew up,_ while he was still in the sky!” Lunril said, his eyes wide as he waved his hands out beside him, poorly miming an explosion. Depa gasped just a little, and Lunril nodded seriously.

Lunril—the little Nautolan boy—was in the middle of telling a very exciting story about his older brother’s jetpack lessons while Depa nodded along, politely ignoring the exaggerated _huffs_ and _snorts_ of Satine, the human or near-human girl. It was a very interesting view of Mandalorian culture these two represented, she thought: Lunril’s family, Depa had been told, were called _Haat’ade,_ which meant that they followed the _Mand’alor_ into battle. Satine’s family was from the opposite end of the Mandalorian spectrum, full of pacifists calling themselves New Mandalorians. While the New Mandalorians _also_ followed the _Resol’nare,_ they did not wear _full_ armor, and their “self-defense” was just that: a focus on nonlethal tactics.

“ _That_ is why we shouldn’t do such dangerous things!” Satine protested. “Jetpacks aren’t really something we _need,_ and they’re so _dangerous!_ If you won’t stop wearing _beskar’gam,_ then you should at least stop using jetpacks!”

Lunril rolled his eyes, scowling slightly. “You didn’t let me _finish._ As I was _saying_ —” Depa quickly released her enthusiasm into the Force at that to stifle the smile that threatened to cross her lips, instead projecting concern. “—he just kept falling and falling! There was nobody else with a jetpack around, ‘cause he was doing extra practice on his own this time, but then Veze just… _stopped._ In the middle of the air! Then he landed on his feet, on the ground, like someone just put him back down. And you know what happened?”

Depa was fairly certain that she did, but had spent enough time in the Temple creche to realize it would be best to play long and let the youngling reach their dramatic climax. “No! What happened?”

“It was _ba’vodu_ Ben! _He_ stopped him with the _ka’ra_ and his magic powers!” Lunril stuck his hands out in front of him and wiggled his fingers, and it took every ounce of Depa’s control to look impressed rather than bursting into laughter.

“That’s very impressive,” Depa said. “And very lucky for Veze that Ben was there.”

“ _Nayc,_ Ben says there isn’t any luck,” Lunril refuted. “Just the _ka’ra._ ”

“May I ask you a question?” Satine asked abruptly, her brow furrowed slightly, and Depa smiled softly at her.

“Please do.”

“Why do Jedi have lightsabers?” she asked. “My _buir_ says that Jedi are peacekeepers, but the weapons you use are… Well, we’re Mandalorians. We know what a lightsaber can do.”

Depa nodded, her smile fading as she contemplated how best to answer such a serious question. “Lightsabers themselves are special to us because they contain kyber crystals,” Depa began. “Kyber crystals resonate in the Force, and Jedi develop a bond with their crystal, or crystals. That is why we use kyber in our weapons, though kyber crystals do have other uses. As for why a lightsaber in terms of design, it is a compromise. Jedi never seek to cause harm; we are never to be the aggressor. It is our dearest wish that every problem could be solved diplomatically, but that is not the case. So when we must resort to use of a weapon, a lightsaber is the most deliberate and defensive of our options. It is not ranged, but it allows us to defend our immediate ‘circle.’”

“Not ranged?” Lunril repeated, frowning. “But they deflect blaster bolts, and you can hit ‘em back if you’re good enough, right?”

“That is true, but deflecting blaster fire also requires someone else to fire at us first,” Depa pointed out. “A lightsaber on its own has very little range, unless you’re foolish enough to try throwing it.”

“People _do that?_ ” Satine asked, looking perfectly horrified. Depa had meant it as a bit of a joke, though she regretted that now.

“Not usually, no,” Depa admitted. “Only a very few who have trained enough in ‘saber combat, and usually they are Masters by then.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you use that word?” Lunril asked, and Depa stifled a sigh. That, sadly, was a common question.

“The word Master within the Order refers to someone who has mastered themself, and demonstrated that by mastering a particular aspect of the Force,” Depa explained. The children nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Will Obi-Wan be a Master someday?” Lunril asked, and Depa smiled.

“That will be a long time from now, if that is where his future leads,” she said honestly. “First, he will need to become a Padawan—an apprentice.”

The younglings’ nods were significantly more enthusiastic this time.

“I’m going to apprentice to my _buir,_ ” Satine said. “He’s in politics and administration.”

“I’m going to apprentice to _Goran be_ Mereel!” Lunril said. At Depa’s questioning look, he turned again to Satine.

“The Armorer for House Mereel,” Satine translated, and Depa let out a soft _ah._

“When do Mandalorians begin their apprenticeships?” Depa asked.

“At thirteen,” Lunril said immediately. “That’s when we have our _verd’goten,_ and become adults. Well, kind of adults, it’s sorta complicated. But _legally,_ that’s when we’re adults, and they think we’re ready to choose something that big.”

Depa nodded. “Another similarity, then. Initiates are eligible to be taken as Padawan learners between the ages of eleven and thirteen for humans and near-humans, or their species equivalent.”

“What happens after they turn thirteen?” Satine asked. “If they don’t become Padawans, I mean.”

“They have several choices,” Depa answered. “Usually, when an Initiate ages out, it’s because it’s clear to all of us, including the Initiate in most cases, that the path of a Jedi Knight is not for them. There is no shame in it, and many Initiates do choose to leave us at that time. If one leaves the Jedi Order, it is most commonly around that age. Should that be their choice, we do offer them specialized training and employment in the Service Corps: the Education Corps, the Exploration Corps, the Agricultural Corps, and the Medical Corps. In most cases, Initiates going into the Service Corps discuss the decision with the Council of Reassignment and know well in advance where they will be placed.”

“What if they don’t want to do any of those things?” Satine persisted, frowning slightly. “What if they just want to leave?”

“Those Initiates who have families or a guardian to claim them, we allow to return home, if that is what they choose,” Depa conceded, and Lunril brightened, probably at the idea that Initiate Kenobi could come home in some possible future. “Though we are responsible for them until they reach their Senate-mandated age of majority for their species, so unless they have another guardian, they must choose one of the Service Corps initially.”

“So you have to be an apprentice if you’re a _Jetii,_ and you either apprentice to a _ba’ji_ or one of the Corps?” Lunril summarized, and Depa hummed. That was an unusual description, but rather accurate. “Unless you go back home.”

“Precisely.”

“Huh,” Lunril said. “I mean, I haven’t really met anybody who _hasn’t_ done an apprenticeship—even the New Mandalorians.” He looked at Satine for confirmation, and she nodded.

“Most of our teaching is done that way, no matter the profession. We only have one university on _Manda’yaim,_ ” Satine said, sounding a bit mournful at the last bit. Depa nodded her understanding.

“So that seems pretty… normal,” Lunril finished his thought. “I kinda thought _Jetii_ stuff would be… different. Weirder.”

Depa laughed softly. “The Force is perfectly natural, not ‘weird’ in the least,” she said airily, and Lunril’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he couldn’t tell if she were joking or not. She smiled at him. “We are just sentients, like any other. We need time to grow and train and learn just as others do. It is only because there are so few of us now that we seem so exceptional. We aren’t so very different.”

Satine nodded, looking thoughtful, but Lunril looked a bit disappointed at the revelation. Depa wondered if that hero-worship was aimed more at Ben Kenobi or Initiate Kenobi, and thought perhaps that now might be a good time to try to wrangle another story about the boy’s father out of Lunril.

The door opening took away that option, and Depa straightened her back before bowing her head deeply. She knew that Mandalorians did not like bowing at the waist, and did not see it as a sign of respect (more a mocking gesture, when it was used), and was grateful that she had been sitting down when they entered. Had she been standing, long habit would have likely taken over, and she might have bowed anyway.

“ _Mand’alor,_ Sir Kenobi,” she greeted them politely. Mereel nodded to her and then turned to look at the children, raising an eyebrow at them, seated on the bed with their legs folded underneath them just as Depa was. But Kenobi… He was staring at Satine, his face a bit paler than it had been before, his eyes wide.

“Thank you for bringing me something else to wear, and taking a moment to speak to me,” Depa said politely to the children, who looked back to her and nodded. “I think they might like a word with me alone, if you don’t mind.” Both children nodded again, but rather reluctantly, and unfolded their legs to slide off the bed.

“ _Ret'urcye mhi, Jetii!_ ” Lunril said, and then unceremoniously grabbed Satine’s hand, ignoring her squawk of surprise and then protest, and Depa smiled as she watched them bolt from the room.

“We spoke to Windu,” Mereel said, calling Depa’s attention back to him. “The Council will be ready for your initial report in two hours, if that’s enough time for you.”

Depa nodded. “That is. Thank you.”

Mereel nodded. “I do have a few questions for you, about the attack. You said you were trying to jump to Bandomeer, and were attacked by pirates. If they’re operating that close to our borders, I need to know where it happened.”

Depa hummed in understanding, feeling a bit foolish for failing to think of that before. Deciding to show herself some grace, she blamed it on the headache and the nearly-healed, but not quite, concussion. “We were leaving from Phindar to meet with a Trade Federation ship. Our assignment was to look into suspected piracy in the Outer Rim, aimed specifically at the Trade Federation and mostly along the Hydian Way. We never reached the rendezvous; the Federation had insisted upon meeting off of the main hyperlanes, which meant we had to travel at sublight.”

“Making you perfect targets for these pirates,” Mereel finished, frowning. “But your ship wasn’t marked as a _Jetii_ ship. How could they have known?”

“I don’t know,” Depa answered. “There could be any number of explanations; we will have to resume our investigation to learn anything on that front.”

Mereel scowled. “I don’t like the options that gives me, _Jetii._ We either have pirates who knew you were _Jetiise_ without any identifying marks, which means they’re well-informed, and well-informed pirates in my backyard is a headache I don’t need or want. And the other option is worse: the Federation was wrong, and they aren’t the only target. Pirates who attack civilian shuttles with minimal weapons is an even bigger headache that I want even less.”

Depa frowned sympathetically. “I can give you my word, _Mand’alor,_ that I will do all that I can to complete my assignment and find these pirates.”

Mereel stared at her for a moment, and then nodded sharply. “The problem is outside of our borders _for now._ If that changes, we will need to reconvene to discuss cooperative efforts. For now, know that I’ll be sending my _verde_ to our upper border, and our section of the Hydian.”

Depa blinked at him, and then nodded. “Of course, _Mand’alor._ Thank you.”

Mereel nodded again, and Kenobi spoke up during the lull, now looking as composed as he had been before, his face a polite, serene mask. “I would guess that you might like some time for meditation before reporting to the Council.”

Depa smiled wanly. “Actually, Sir Kenobi, if you have a moment, I would appreciate speaking to you.”

Mereel stiffened at that, but Kenobi simply nodded. “Certainly. _‘Alor?_ ” Kenobi turned to Mereel, and the two stared each other down for a long moment, and then Mereel shook his head.

“I’m going to comm Venn.” Kenobi sighed and shook his head, and Depa wondered who Venn was. Mereel turned back to nod to her. “ _Jetii._ ”

She nodded back. “ _Mand’alor._ ”

Mereel glanced back once more at Kenobi, and then left them alone together.

* * *

Yan had, indeed, agreed that Komari could invite someone over for tea. He had thought he would meet one of her friends; Yan was certain she must have them, but she never brought anyone to meet him, and rarely even spoke of them. It was, in fact, the first time Komari had asked to have someone over.

In hindsight, Yan should have seen that as the red flag that it was. Komari was clearly up to something, though what, exactly, he had no idea.

“Greetings, Initiate Kenobi,” Yan said, because unexpected guest or not, the boy was still a guest.

“ _Ba’ji_ Dooku,” the boy returned, his voice lowered by the modulator in his helmet. Yan rarely saw him without it, though he supposed Kenobi would have to take it off for the duration, if he was to partake of the tea. Kenobi made his usual gesture of respect, bowing his head and folding his arm over his chest, and Yan bowed his head in return before stepping aside to allow him in.

“There you are, little brother!” Komari called, her smile a bit too sharp to be genuine as she rounded on Kenobi. Yan frowned at that. He had heard her call him that before, but surely it was because of the Mandalorian tendency to call each other _vod,_ or brother, in Basic. _Surely_ she realized that Obi-Wan was already ten, and there was no way Komari would be ready for the Trials within three years.

...would she be? Yan glanced at her. Her braid was already down to her chest, the physical symbol of their long years together. It had been nearly a decade, now. Yan’s own apprenticeship had only been eleven years; Rael’s had been twelve; Qui-Gon’s had been thirteen, though those last two years had been Yoda’s work.

Yan _did_ have much left to teach Komari, but the fact remained that their time together would soon come to an end. But he had always thought Komari would be his last pupil. Was he even interested in another Padawan? And, if so, was he interested in Kenobi?

Yan set his thoughts aside as something to meditate on later, knowing that woolgathering would make him poor company for tea, and a poor host in turn.

“Is the tea ready, Komari?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. We shall begin without our straggler,” Yan said, and Komari raised an eyebrow. “He is never punctual, though he knows the consequences of his tardiness by now. Come, while the tea is still warm. Qui-Gon will find his way here when the Force and his lazy timekeeping permit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, both Obi-Wans are trapped in uncomfortable situations now...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your comments so much! When you guys start to guess at things that will happen it makes me squeak. :D

Kenobi stared at her placidly, and Depa stared back. Neither of them moved, both of them feeling the tension rising in the Force. Deliberately, but gently, she brushed her presence up against those formidable shields. Not seeking entry, simply acknowledging their existence.

“You’re Force-sensitive,” Depa said, and Kenobi nodded.

“I am.”

“And you’ve had training,” she added. Kenobi nodded again, his expression unmoved.

“I have.”

Depa tilted her head. “May I ask who trained you?”

Kenobi smiled at her, but it was a melancholy expression. “There exists a concept in Mandalorian culture called _cin vhetin._ It literally translates to ‘white field,’ and is a phrase used to mean a clean slate. A new beginning. One does not have to be born Mandalorian to _be_ Mandalorian, you see. The day you renounce your old life, swear to the _Resol’nare,_ and don _beskar’gam_ —that is _cin vhetin._ I reached mine five years ago, and the man who existed before that is gone. That life is over.”

That was a very roundabout way of saying that no, she may not ask. But Depa also felt the Force stir, impressing upon her a need to _remember_ his words, and there was a rapidly rising suspicion forming in her mind that the Force seemed to agree with.

“You don’t have to tell me if I’m right,” Depa said softly, “but I think I already know. You’re a Mandalorian, but you gave your son to the Jedi, despite our history. You’ve been trained, and you know so much about the Order. I know you have contact with your son, but he can’t have told you everything. You were one of us, weren’t you?”

Kenobi was quiet for a moment at that, and then he smiled again, but it still looked and felt _wrong,_ that melancholy etched onto his face and leaking into the Force ever-so-slightly.

“I told you the truth, Knight Billaba, when I said that the man I was before my _cin vhetin_ **_does not exist,_ **” Kenobi said flatly. “You will find no record of me in the Archives. You will find no record of me anywhere, until seven years ago. Suffice to say that that man ceased to exist for a good reason. I’m afraid that’s all I’m willing to say on the matter.”

Depa frowned at him, and then sighed. “My apologies. I did not mean to pry.”

Kenobi waved a hand. “It’s quite alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my duties.”

Depa nodded to him. “Thank you for your time, Sir Kenobi.”

“ _Ret'urcye mhi,_ Depa Billaba,” Kenobi said, eyeing her with a curious look on his face. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

With that, Kenobi swept out of the room, leaving Depa with only more questions and her sluggishly pounding headache.

* * *

Qui-Gon had spent a lovely morning in the Temple gardens, helping a few Elders move seedlings from the greenhouse into the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He was nearly finished with his task when the Force whispered an intuitive sense of him having missed something; it was only then that Qui-Gon realized he was running late for tea. He sighed and stood, glancing down at his tunics, now covered in streaks of dirt. Well, there was nothing for it. He had no time to change; much as he wasn’t looking forward to giving Yan more to complain about, he couldn’t bear to be any later, or the entirety of their visit would consist of a lecture on timeliness. Sighing again softly, Qui-Gon regretfully excused himself and hurried down the still-familiar path to Yan’s quarters.

Yan did not answer the door to greet him, which Qui-Gon had expected. His former-Master often said that if Qui-Gon was going to so rudely neglect his etiquette by being late, then Yan would refrain from showing consideration toward him in return. Not that it mattered much to Qui-Gon, as Yan had left his codes programmed into the lock, even after all these years, and he was able to let himself in.

“My wayward apprentice seems to have joined us at last,” Yan called from the table, and Qui-Gon huffed before making his way there. He stopped and blinked at the occupants: Yan at the head of the table, as usual, with Komari across from him, but it was the young boy seated between them that drew Qui-Gon’s attention. He had no braid, only the small bit of hair growing there that would eventually become his Padawan braid dangling down behind his ear, marking him as an Initiate. Though he was not wearing the traditional whites of an Initiate: instead, he was wearing armor, with a helmet sitting on the table beside him, the distinctive T-visor of the Mandalorian style pointed at Qui-Gon. He had, of course, heard about the unusual Mandalorian Initiate in the Temple, though he had never met the boy before. Not that he had had many opportunities to meet him, up until now, with as much time as he had been spending away from Coruscant in recent years.

“Sit down, Qui-Gon,” Yan ordered him, and Qui-Gon slowly sat down beside him, across from the Initiate, who blinked at him and then sipped at his tea. “You couldn’t even clean yourself up?”

“I had not realized the time,” Qui-Gon said shortly, ignoring Yan’s soft snort and disapproving shake of his head in favor of turning back to the boy. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Master Yan’s former Padawan.”

The boy bowed his head. “ _Su cuy’gar, Ba’ji_ Jinn,” he said. “I’m Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel. I’m in _Ba’ji_ Dooku’s ‘saber class.”

Qui-Gon turned a raised eyebrow on Yan at that. Since when did Yan teach younglings? Yan met his gaze and tipped his head before sipping at his own tea, explaining nothing.

“I’ll make us more tea,” Komari said. “Why don’t you come help me, little brother?”

Qui-Gon looked to Komari, whose attention was on Kenobi. The boy simply nodded, not reacting to the address as though it were unusual, and Qui-Gon barely managed to wait until the pair were in the kitchen before leaning over to Yan.

“‘Little brother?’”

Yan hummed and waved a hand. “Komari has taken to calling the boy that on her own.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “So you are not thinking of taking him as an apprentice?” he needled, and Yan arched an eyebrow back.

“Perhaps,” Yan conceded. “But it would be unwise for me to plan on such a thing. The boy is already ten, and Komari may remain my apprentice for several more years.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “Still, he must be impressive. You don’t teach younglings often, and even more rarely do you invite them over for tea.” Rarely meaning _never,_ actually, and they both knew it.

Yan’s lips twitched in a smile at that, though Qui-Gon couldn’t divine what he found amusing about that statement. “Initiate Kenobi was unable to continue with his Clan’s lightsaber classes,” Yan explained. “Makashi has been a more suitable alternative for him.”

“Why?”

“His armor restricts his movement,” Yan said. “Ataru and Niman are out of the question until modifications to the plates can be made, therefore excluding him from the introductory classes which touch on all of the forms.”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon murmured in understanding, looking over Yan’s shoulder to peer into the kitchen at Kenobi. His back was to them, and Qui-Gon could clearly see the issue: that stiff backplate would severely restrict his ability to jump, flip, and twist as Ataru would demand. “Still, I am surprised that you agreed to teach a younglings’ class. I had heard the rumor, but thought it to be just that: a rumor.”

Yan huffed. “It has not been as trying as I might have thought,” he said airily. “Their skills are appalling, but I suppose that is to be expected given their youth and inexperience. Still, they are at least attentive students.”

Qui-Gon wondered if he should chance asking if any of the younglings had cried yet; on the one hand, if they hadn’t, Yan would be pleased to report that they had not. But if they had, he would likely spend the remainder of their tea time even surlier than usual. Thankfully, the reemergence of Komari and Kenobi from the kitchen ended that line of conversation for the moment. Kenobi set the tea pot back on the table, and they both retook their seats.

Yan, as the host, poured for them all, as Komari spoke up next.

“Obi-Wan, you’re at the top of all your classes, aren’t you?” she asked, voice light and attention firmly on the boy, who blinked at her and then shrugged one shoulder, his armor plates _tinking_ softly.

“Bant and I trade off, mostly,” he answered. “No one else is really interested in studying. But our friend Garen is always the best in astronav; he wants to be a Knight-Pilot.”

“And what about you?” Komari prompted. Kenobi blinked at her.

“Me?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing at Komari ever-so-slightly. Qui-Gon also thought this was strange; even if Yan had some tentative interest in taking the boy on as his next Padawan, that was not guaranteed to happen, so why form such a connection with him? And Qui-Gon had never known Komari to take much interest in _any_ youngling. She certainly hadn’t been very interested in Xa…She hadn’t been interested in Qui-Gon’s last apprentice. He glanced at Yan, who was also busy staring at Komari with a slight look of suspicion.

“Yes, you,” Komari said, raising an eyebrow at him. “What sort of Jedi do you want to become?”

“I don’t know,” Kenobi answered slowly. “The Force says that I’m where I need to be right now, so I haven’t thought any more about it. Besides, I’m still ten. I’m not even eligible to be a Padawan yet.”

“Ah, but you will be, soon,” Komari pointed out. “In about nine months, isn’t that right?” Kenobi nodded, and then glanced at Yan, who simply picked up his tea and sipped at it while maintaining eye contact with the boy, giving nothing away. Kenobi looked next to Qui-Gon, who shrugged helplessly. Kenobi’s lips twitched in a smile, probably grateful not to be the only one confused, and then he turned back to Komari.

“ _‘Lek,_ ” Kenobi said, nodding at her. “My Clan is supposed to go for our Gathering about six months from now, so at least it’ll be before I’m eleven.”

Komari hummed and turned her head to meet Yan’s gaze, eyes wide. “Master, you _know_ I’ve been meaning to return to Ilum for a second crystal, as you _did_ say that I could add another to my ‘saber once I became a Senior Padawan. Perhaps we could accompany Bear Clan?” Qui-Gon tried not to smile at that, but failed, and quickly brought his own teacup to his lips to hide the expression.

“If our schedules permit, then perhaps that could be done,” Yan said noncommittally. He wouldn’t be going, Qui-Gon knew. Teaching a two-hour class to the younglings four times per week was vastly different from being stuck on a ship with a full Clan for at least two weeks, travelling to Ilum and back. He had no doubt that Yan would do everything in his power to avoid that trip, and a glance at Kenobi’s doubtful expression told him that the boy realized the same. They shared a small smile at that.

“Padawan,” Yan said, frowning at Qui-Gon, “you never did explain why your robes are in such a sorry state. What were you doing? Manual labor?”

“Yes, actually,” Qui-Gon answered cheerfully, ignoring Yan’s pursed lips. “I was assisting the Elders in the gardens this morning.”

“And to think that I had so dearly hoped that you had gotten your fill of neglecting our lineage in favor of plants during your apprenticeship,” Yan sighed, and Qui-Gon was about to reply when he saw Kenobi look up sharply, his gaze sliding past Qui-Gon to Yan’s front door. A moment later, the bell chimed.

“My, aren’t we popular today, Master?” Komari said with such cheer that was likely meant to be sarcastic. “I’ll get it.” She made her way to the door, Yan watching her go with his eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pursed. So he didn’t know what was going on with Komari either; Qui-Gon had remembered her as a caustic sort, riding the edge of anger, desperate to prove herself, and competitive. It seemed… out of character for her to take such an interest in an Initiate, possible future-Padawan-brother or not.

Komari returned quickly, Cin Drallig just behind her. Qui-Gon turned to nod and smile at his friend, who nodded back, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smile.

“My apologies for interrupting your tea,” Cin said, “but I must borrow Initiate Kenobi for a time.”

“I understand,” Yan said gracefully, nodding to him before turning to Kenobi. “Thank you for coming, Initiate. Perhaps we could repeat the event at a later date.”

“ _Vor’e, Ba’ji,_ ” Kenobi said, giving him a brief smile before standing and jamming his helmet back onto his head. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll see you both in class tomorrow. And it was good to meet you, _Ba’ji_ Jinn.”

“And you, Initiate,” Qui-Gon returned with a nod. He made to rise, but Yan turned a pointed _look_ on him.

“You will not be arriving late _and_ leaving early, Padawan,” Yan drawled, and Komari barked a laugh. Qui-Gon simply sighed.

“No, Master. Of course not.” He resettled in his seat and resigned himself to the lectures he was sure to receive as soon as Kenobi and Cin left the room. But then, perhaps the Initiate leaving would mean that he and Yan could team up to figure out what, exactly, Komari was up to. Although that would greatly depend on how much goodwill Yan felt towards him at the moment; a quick glance at Yan’s slightly-clenched jaw told Qui-Gon that he should wait on cornering Komari, at least until he had let Yan get one lecture out. Qui-Gon reached for his tea again, and braced himself for an hour of hearing about his own faults and foibles.

* * *

Yoda was unsurprised when Komari Vosa entered his meditation room near sunset. She took a seat on the cushion across from him and waited to be acknowledged. He took a moment to wiggle his ears and stretch, smiling at the feeling of the setting sun shining through the window to warm his back. He allowed the impatience Komari was radiating to wash over him and sighed.

Without opening his eyes, Yoda greeted her with a warm, familiar, “Grand-Padawan.”

“Grand-Master,” she returned. “I upheld my end of the bargain.”

“Indeed you did,” he agreed, opening his eyes. “How went it, hmm?”

Komari raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure, Master. I don’t think your plan is working.”

Yoda hummed. It was an underhanded tactic, relying on the tension between his Padawan and Grand-Padawan to push both of them towards Initiate Kenobi, but one that he knew would work. The two were competitive, and Yoda did not doubt that if Yan considered it seriously enough, Qui-Gon would think about apprenticing the boy himself, if only to “save” him from Yan’s Mastery. Qui-Gon had too many bad memories associated with his own time as Yan’s Padawan not to think twice about Initiate Kenobi, and sparing him the same fate. Well, that was how Qui-Gon would see it. Yoda mourned the friction between the two, but if it could serve a greater purpose and help drive them towards Obi-Wan Kenobi, he would use it.

One of them _would_ become the boy’s Master. One of them _must._

For now, he decided, it was enough that Yan was likely already thinking on it, and Qui-Gon had been introduced to the boy. Yoda had time, yet, to plant his seeds with Qui-Gon before Initiate Kenobi became eligible for his apprenticeship.

“Work, it will,” Yoda said breezily, and Komari tipped her head in concession to him. “My end of the bargain, as you say, I will also uphold. Ready, are you?”

“Yes, Master.” Her voice was controlled, but her shields slipped, allowing some of her excitement to shine through in the Force. Yoda smiled.

“Begin tomorrow, your lessons will,” Yoda informed her. “With Master Windu personally, you will learn. Teach you the _vapaad,_ he will, if ready, you are.”

“I am, Master,” she assured him again. “I _am_ ready.”

Yoda hummed. “See, we will, Grand-Padawan. Meditate with me.”

“Yes, Grand-Master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoda is a manipulative old troll. He's not above bribing his Grand-Padawan, and he's already laying the groundwork for manipulating Obi's apprenticeship. Sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more squeaks and squawks from your comments on the last chapter! XD I will say now that I chose Obi-Wan's Master waaay back when I first started writing this AU! I actually have that part already written, and it was one of the first scenes I wrote for this story. ;) You'll find out eventually!

If the Depa Billaba Ben had spoken to had been the Master he remembered, he never would have gotten away from that conversation so easily. As it was, he had already miscalculated, and badly, too.

Ben hadn’t ever intended to keep the Order in the dark about who he truly was, and his purpose here, but he had not intended to have them asking questions this _soon._ He had hoped, for Obi-Wan’s sake, to avoid telling them anything until Obi-Wan was taken as a Padawan (and _oh,_ how he had such mingled fears and hopes about _whose_ Padawan Obi-Wan might be). Ben hadn’t been joking, when he’d said several years before, that Obi-Wan, as the first Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizsla, was already going to suffer a mountain of extra scrutiny, and Ben hadn’t wanted _his_ history to add to that. He might have been misdirecting Jaster from what he actually meant, but he _had_ meant it.

Once Ben told them everything, they would look at Obi-Wan differently. There was nothing Ben could do about that but try to delay the inevitable.

So Ben had put himself in the awkward position of avoiding answering Depa’s questions while also determined not to lie to her. And he _had_ all but confirmed for her that he had once been a Jedi. It was a truthful misdirection, because Ben knew that they would never find the answers they looked for, because the records didn’t exist yet. And Obi-Wan was different now, so those records would never be exactly the same.

Aside from one very simple piece of information: their DNA. Ben’s was, of course, on file with the Mandalorian Register, and had been since his admission to Tala’s program. And Obi-Wan’s DNA was on file with the Order, and the Republic. All it would take for someone to begin to realize the connection between them was a quick cross-reference. But Ben doubted they ever would, at least not before he told them anyway and used that very fact to help convince them of the truth. They would have no real reason to do so, after all.

So, yes, Ben had given far more away to Depa than he had intended to, though he could hardly do anything about that now. But, given how poorly he had been able to control himself with Depa, he had decided _not_ to be present when Plo woke up. If seeing Depa had shaken him more than he had realized, he did not want to think about what he might slip and say to Plo Koon.

But, at the same time, _no,_ Ben wasn’t _running away._ He was beating a strategic retreat, regrouping, shifting his focus to another objective. He _did_ still have to go to Dathomir, after all. It would not do to keep the Night Mother waiting for long. He feared he was pushing his luck as it was.

Those were all true statements, but trying to convince Jaster of that was proving difficult.

“It still seems to me like you’re letting them scare you off,” Jaster grumbled for perhaps the tenth time in twenty minutes. Ben sighed and reached up to stroke his beard.

“I stayed because I had a feeling that they might need me. Billaba did, but Koon doesn’t,” Ben said flatly, for the third time, now. “Now that Billaba is awake, and Koon will sort himself out, in time, I _must_ go to Dathomir.”

“I know,” Jaster sighed back. “I know. But I can’t help what it _feels_ like.”

Ben softened somewhat at that. “This is just very poor timing, that’s all. Coincidence.”

“You don’t believe in coincidence, only the _ka’ra,_ ” Jaster reminded him, and Ben snorted.

“Of all the times for you to actually remember something of Force philosophy,” he teased, and Jaster cracked a smile. “I scheduled a session with Tala, before I leave. I’ll be fine.”

Jaster laughed. “You mean I scheduled you a session, and you agreed to it when Venn cornered you,” he corrected him, and Ben shrugged.

“ _Cuy ogir'olar,_ ” Ben said, waving a hand, and Jaster chuckled again. Good. He was winding down, then. “ _Ner ad cuyi Jetii, vod._ I know that. I can’t avoid them forever, and I don’t intend to. But now is not the time for a reunion.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Fine. As long as Venn clears you before you leave.” Ben nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Ben snorted at that. “As if Arl’ika would let me.”

Jaster barked another laugh, and then shook his head, his smile fading. “You never did tell me _how_ the Night Mother contacted you.”

“Through the Force,” Ben answered, and Jaster frowned. Ben waved a hand. “Don’t worry, it won’t be a concern. She was likely only able to do so because she knew to look for me here, and was in close enough proximity to _Manda’yaim._ Not everyone would be able to do it.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “She knew to look for you? Have you met before?”

“ _‘Lek,_ ” Ben said, and he couldn’t quite keep the amusement from his voice at this selective truth. “A lifetime ago, when I was still part of the Order.”

Jaster looked a bit relieved at that. “You should have said so before. I would’ve worried less, knowing you’ve been to Dathomir before.”

“I did tell you that I knew what I was doing,” Ben pointed out, and Jaster gave him a flat, unimpressed look.

“And I was supposed to somehow know what that meant?” Jaster retorted, and Ben tipped his head.

“You do have a point.”

“One of these days, _vod,_ you’ll learn the meaning of _full disclosure,_ ” Jaster sighed. “Until then, please at least make an _effort_ to be less karking cryptic?”

“ _Elek, ‘Alor._ ” Ben snapped off a perfectly crisp salute.

“ _Shabuir,_ ” Jaster returned at his cheekiness, but he was smiling, so Ben simply mustered his best serene smile in return. He took a moment to bask in the peaceful happiness of the moment, letting it soothe his nerves. He would be fine, he knew; he had no reservations whatsoever about going to Dathomir, no ominous _bad feeling_ about that.

It was what would come _after_ Dathomir that set his stomach fluttering. Once Ben had learned where Maul was, where the Sith was… What would he _do_ about that?

He would face it when it came, Ben decided, and turned his attention back to Jaster before he was accused of “staring off” again.

* * *

Both Kenobis were a pain in Mace’s neck. Literally, with all of the tension headaches they inspired in him, not to mention the headaches from the Shatterpoints surrounding them both.

It had been bad enough that Obi-Wan Kenobi was a _Mandalorian_ Initiate. Frankly, that he’d caused as few incidents as he had was a Force-granted miracle. But while he’d rarely been a discipline problem, Initiate Kenobi was a _hassle_ in so many other ways.

First, he had challenged the curriculum on the Mandalorian Wars using documentation from the _Mand’alor’s_ Royal Archives. Master Nu had been beside herself and demanded they send copies, which had meant that Mace, as the Councilor responsible for communicating with Mereel, had had to negotiate an exchange of historic documents between them. Mace had no patience for politics, or lengthy negotiations, and the only reason he had not resigned his Council seat to avoid having to do it was that Mereel seemed just as eager to get every conversation _over with_ as Mace was.

Second, Initiate Kenobi had managed to get them to agree to allow the entirety of his Clan to go to _Little Keldabe,_ of all places. That single request had kicked off one of the worst round of Shatterpoint visions Mace had had in _years._ And the Council, save for Plo and Yoda, who had accompanied the younglings, had sat in tense silence in the Chambers throughout the entire trip, all of them open to the Force, searching for any sign that something had gone _wrong._ To hear that the worst of it had been Initiate Chun getting a little overzealous with his spices had been a relief.

And third, once he had the armor, Mace had been drawn into an argument with the Council of First Knowledge. Micah and Cin had petitioned to waive the Lightsaber Foundations class requirement, and the Council of First Knowledge had initially refused on the grounds that Initiate Kenobi did not have any disability that would prevent him from participating in the normal curriculum. It had taken Mace _three days_ of argument with the Council of First Knowledge to convince them to give the first Cultural Exemption for a lightsaber class there had ever been. First, he had had to convince them that the armor wasn’t going anywhere, and the Council certainly wasn’t going to _require_ Initiate Kenobi to remove it for class so that he could participate (he had likened that to requiring that a Mirialan remove their headdress, and _finally,_ they had understood that it was more like religious garb than mere _armor)._ Then he had had to assure them that Initiate Kenobi believed it was possible to make modifications to the armor that would improve his ability to learn more acrobatic ‘saber forms, and then, _finally,_ they had allowed Initiate Kenobi to _defer_ the Lightsaber Foundations class until he received new armor, at which point they would reevaluate the requirement. The saving grace of the whole situation was the fact that Master Dooku’s weekly reports on the class always spoke highly of Initiate Kenobi in particular.

And now Mace’s own former-Padawan said that she suspected Ben Kenobi was, or had once been, a Jedi. A _Master_ to boot, and, she had added, more than likely a Shadow, given the shielding technique he had used to cloak himself and Mereel. When she had said that, and repeated her conversation with the man, Mace had felt as if he couldn’t breathe with the weight of the Shatterpoints pressing down on him.

He hadn’t been able to make sense of _what_ the Force was trying to tell him, but he had heeded Depa’s words, and taken Ben Kenobi at his. The man had been right: there was no mention of another Kenobi in the Order for over three hundred years, and no Ben Kenobi or Obi-Wan Kenobi in the Republic register, at least until Obi-Wan Kenobi had been registered as a Jedi Initiate five years ago. But Mace had looked into Stewjoni naming conventions, and knew that Obi-Wan Kenobi was a relatively common name, though children given that name were killed by their own parents. The name was also given exclusively to those who had the Force.

Mace had also looked into Mandalorian naming conventions. They had three components: a given name, a Clan name, and a House name. Initiate Kenobi was, technically speaking, Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel. Mereel was clearly the _Mand’alor’s_ Clan and House, and given Mereel’s obvious affection for Initiate Kenobi, and the casual way Mereel referred to Ben Kenobi as his _vod,_ Mace was not surprised that the Kenobis claimed House Mereel.

But the Clan name he had found rather interesting. Obi-Wan had told them that he came from Stewjon, and had been adopted by Ben Kenobi. Some Mandalorians kept their previous Clan names after an adoption, as Mereel’s children, Jango and Arla, had done, but Obi-Wan and Ben had already had the same Clan name. Therefore, Ben Kenobi was also natively Stewjoni, and his name would have once been _Obi-Wan_ Kenobi. But even a meticulous search of Republic records had turned up nothing under an Obi-Wan Kenobi since the last Stewjoni Jedi three centuries ago.

Mace had faith in Depa, and he couldn’t deny that Ben Kenobi being a former-Jedi would neatly explain the mystery of why a Mandalorian would give up their child to the Order. If she said she sensed a Jedi Master’s presence in Ben Kenobi, Mace believed her. But for the Order to have no record of him, coupled with the fact that Depa had quoted Kenobi as saying he “ceased to exist…” Well, Mace could easily believe that was Shadow work. Some of them went so deep undercover that they just disappeared one day, like they hadn’t ever existed. Mace could think of three of his peers off the top of his head who he’d thought to have been dead until he became a Councilor and was given Shadow clearance. He supposed it was possible that Ben Kenobi was either a Shadow _deep_ undercover in the Mandalore sector, or a former Jedi Shadow now gone rogue.

He couldn’t decide which option was more disconcerting.

But those possibilities were the reason he found himself in Master Yaddle’s rooms. They were warm and cozy, with more piles of cushions than actual furniture, and low tables and shelves scattered throughout in deference to her short stature. Mace had made their tea, a bitter gimmer tea for Yaddle, and a tart red blend for himself.

Few would suspect Master Yaddle to be the Master of Shadows. Mace certainly hadn’t, though once he’d been informed after taking his Council position, it made sense. Master Yaddle always seemed very busy, and was always out and about in the Temple, meeting with other Jedi, and stopping in to visit the younglings, but no one really knew what she _did._ Mace realized, now, that those times she stopped to chat with random Jedi, from Padawans up to Elders, were covers for the other meetings she took around the Temple, with her Shadows. It was very clever, and meant that even if one realized Yaddle _was_ the Master of Shadows, they still wouldn’t be able to identify who the Shadows were, not just by following her and observing. Perfectly in line with her cover, Master Yaddle did not keep an office, as many Temple-bound Masters did. Instead, she took meetings in her quarters; she knew perfectly well that Mace was there to speak to the Master of Shadows, not simply to share tea with a friend, though that would be how it appeared to anyone who saw Mace enter or leave.

“Heavy, your thoughts are,” she said, and Mace sighed, giving in to the urge to rub at his temples.

“I’m sure you’ve seen Depa’s report on Kenobi by now,” Mace answered, dropping one hand to pick up his tea, sipping at it. Yaddle hummed thoughtfully.

“Yes. Curious, it is,” she said. “Already looked, I have. No record is there from us. Inquire with the other Temples, I did, also. No record of him is there in the Order.”

“Depa was so certain, and he all but confirmed it,” Mace said, frowning slightly. Yaddle tilted her head, her ears flicking as she blew over the top of her tea.

“More to this, there is, than it seems,” Yaddle said slowly. “Much more, I sense.”

“Why else would a Mandalorian give their child to us?” Mace asked. “I’ve had enough contact with Mereel to understand how they feel about children. There is little that would make a Mandalorian give up their child. So why did he?”

“Know, I do not,” Yaddle answered. “But the answers to these questions, I sense we _must_ find. A team, I will assign. A cover on Mandalore, they will need.

Mace sighed again, taking another bracing sip of his tea. He knew that task would fall to him. “If they’re going to get close to Kenobi, he’ll be able to tell they’re Jedi. We’ll have to be honest with Mereel on that front.” Yaddle nodded slowly in agreement, waiting patiently while Mace thought the problem over. “I could try to build on our previous archival exchange. He might accept a team coming to negotiate a more intensive information-sharing initiative. He did tell Depa that we could expect his cooperation if the piracy problem on the Hydian dipped into his borders. He might be open to something like that.”

And _any_ more information on Mandalore would do the Order good; Mandalore had been closed to them for so long, Mace had little idea what had happened in the last millennium of their history since the last Sith War, and Tarre Vizsla’s death. It would also put him in Master Nu’s good graces for once. After the last debacle with Mandalorian records, she would no doubt jump at the chance to have greater access. And if they could get an actual intelligence sharing accord set up between the Order and Mandalore… That would be a boon to both of them.

“Agree, you believe he will?”

“I think I can convince him to at least allow us to visit,” Mace said slowly. “If there’s any way you could send a Master and Padawan pair, I think that would be best. They’ve already shown us that they respond well to children.”

Yaddle’s ears perked up, and she nodded slowly. “A pair in mind, I have. Yes. Clear their schedule, I will. Wait for your word, we will, and then send them, I shall.”

“Thank you,” Mace said, giving her a grim smile and a nod. “May I ask what team you have in mind?” Perhaps Master Dooku and Padawan Vosa—they would be a good fit, considering Master Dooku’s positive feelings towards Initiate Kenobi. Though it would put Komari’s lessons on hold, which he doubted she would be happy about, though Mace would welcome delaying them.

“Recently returned to Coruscant, Master Tholme and Padawan Vos have,” Yaddle said. “Young, Vos is, but talented. The gift of psychometry, he has. Well-suited to our work, and friends with Initiate Kenobi, he is.”

Of course Yaddle knew that. As the Master of Shadows, Yaddle had eyes and ears everywhere, and was therefore the biggest gossip-monger in the Temple. She knew about every clique, every tiff and feud, every affair that happened within the Temple walls. Mace’s lips twitched in a smile and he nodded.

“You should have led with that,” Mace said. “The _Mand’alor_ will jump at the chance to host one of Initiate Kenobi’s friends.”

Yaddle smiled at him, a sharp expression revealing small but wickedly pointed teeth that reminded him that whatever species Yoda and Yaddle were, they were predators. “Tell them to pack their bags, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I had a plan for Quinlan, didn't I? :D
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Cuy ogir'olar - It's neither here nor there (ie it's unimportant)  
> Ner ad cuyi Jetii - My son is a Jedi


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get so giddy at all the comments! :D Thank you so much!

“So what  _ is  _ Dathomir like?” Arla lounged in the co-pilot’s chair, keeping one-third of her attention on the autopilot, one-third on the conversation, and the last bit on her cards. Ben always won at sabacc anyway, and it was more just something to pass the time than a hobby Arla enjoyed much, not like some of the  _ verde. _

“Ancient and powerful,” Ben answered simply, gaze flicking over his cards before putting one into the stasis field. “The Night Sisters channel the Force through the planet itself. It’s quite fascinating, actually.”

“Okay,” Arla said slowly. She could understand how a planet could be significant to the people who’d lived there;  _ Manda’yaim  _ was important to  _ Mando’ade, _ after all. So important that they’d found a way to inhabit it despite the fact that the surface had long ago been decimated. But for a place to have its own sort of  _ power  _ was a concept she couldn’t quite grasp. “And the Night Sisters? What are they like?”

Ben hummed and gestured for her to take her turn. “Their only loyalty is to their Clan,” he said slowly. “They are unwaveringly loyal to the Night Mother. The Night Sisters rule the planet, and the Night Brothers live in secluded villages. The two only mix when the Night Sisters want something from one of the Brothers. Usually to take them as a mate, which apparently involves putting the Night Brothers through some contest of strength.”

“Huh,” Arla said, trying to imagine it, a society ruled entirely by females. That was another foreign concept to her—Mandalorian culture was very egalitarian, so much so that they didn’t even have gendered pronouns. Gender just  _ was,  _ and it was something they dealt with if and when someone was carrying children. Though this bit of information did explain why Ben had chosen to bring her instead of Jango. “You’re sure you’ll be fine? Even though you’re a man?”

“Quite,” Ben said, giving her a smile that made his beard twitch with the movement. “The Night Mother and I have an understanding.”

“If you say so,” Arla muttered. She flipped her cards, proudly revealing her 21. She hadn’t done too badly this time. Ben simply smiled, drew his final card from the stasis field, and Arla sighed at his -23. “Surprise, surprise. You win again,  _ ba’vodu. _ ” Ben chuckled.

“I think it’s time we put the deck away,” he said, beginning to gather the cards. “We’ll be landing in an hour or so. Just enough time to check our weapons.”

“I thought we were trying ‘not to insult the Night Mother,’” Arla pointed out, though she was quietly relieved that it seemed Ben wasn’t going to make her leave her blaster behind.

“Insulting the Night Mother would be arriving in a warship,” Ben said. “But we don’t want to appear to be idiots either, and visiting Dathomir without weapons at all would certainly qualify as idiotic. Have I told you about the wildlife?”

“No,” Arla said slowly. Ben hummed.

“The most bothersome, in my personal opinion, are the giant spiders…”

* * *

Jaster dearly wished that Ben had waited  _ one more karking day  _ to leave for Dathomir. He wasn’t  _ opposed  _ to granting Windu’s request to send a  _ Jetii’ba’ji  _ and a  _ Jetii’ad  _ to negotiate intelligence sharing, the first step to a proper cooperative alliance, but something about it felt  _ suspicious.  _ He couldn’t quite put his finger on what that might be, though; the timing even made sense, given that he had told Billaba that he was prepared to cooperate with the  _ Jetiise  _ if the pirates became his problem, and she had no doubt told the Council during the report he politely hadn’t monitored. Ben, with his connection to the  _ ka’ra,  _ to the  _ Manda,  _ was always better at sniffing out problems and lies, and Jaster wished he was here to tell him if the uneasy feeling he had about it was just his paranoia on the rise again, or something more.

“ _ If it helps matters, _ ” Windu continued when Jaster still hadn’t responded to his request, too wrapped up in his thoughts, “ _ the Padawan is a friend of Initiate Kenobi. _ ”

That settled it. “Very well. When will they be arriving?”

“ _ In five days, _ ” Windu answered. “ _ Thank you,  _ Mand’alor.”

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Jaster sighed back. “This should work out nicely. They can take Koon and Billaba back with them when they leave.”

“ _ Indeed, _ ” Windu said, sounding satisfied and a bit relieved. “ _ May the Force be with you. _ ”

“ _ Ret'urcye mhi, _ ” Jaster returned before hanging up. He ran a hand through his hair and hit his commlink control again.

“Buir?” Jango answered almost immediately,  _ ka’ra  _ bless him.

“Call a Council meeting,” Jaster ordered. “We’re hosting more  _ Jetiise. _ ”

“...’lek, buir,” Jango said slowly, and more than a bit hesitantly. Jaster sighed.

“It’s nothing bad, Jan’ika,” he assured him. “Their Council wants to negotiate information sharing, probably spurred by the pirate problem along our borders.”

“ _ Ah, _ ” Jango said, understanding dawning. “ _ Right. Well, at least this way, the  _ Jetiise  _ who are already here can hitch a ride back to Coruscanta with them. _ ”

Jaster smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

“ _ I’ll notify the Council,  _ buir.”

“ _ Vor’e,  _ Jan’ika.”

That second call disconnected, and Jaster stared at his commlink for a moment longer. He didn’t  _ want  _ to comm Ben— _ ka’ra  _ knew that his friend would jump to conclusions and assume Jaster was worried about him already. He also didn’t want to seem like he couldn’t go  _ a single day  _ without his  _ vod  _ there. It was just typical of his luck that the instant Ben left, there were going to be  _ Jetiise  _ crawling all over his stronghold.

Jaster sighed, knowing there was nothing for it. He’d already agreed, and he kept his word. Besides, if the  _ Jeti’ika  _ was one of Obi-Wan’s friends, how bad could they really be?

* * *

“And remember—”

“ _ Don’t bow, _ ” Quinlan finished with a roll of his eyes. “I know, Obi. You’ve told me at least a hundred times.”

“ _ Jetiise  _ bow to everyone for everything,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “It would be easy to forget.”

“I won’t forget,” Quinlan promised. “Besides, your dad will be there, right? So I’m sure everything will be fine.” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Is there anything you want me to bring you?”

“Spice,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and then winced. Quinlan barked a laugh. “Not  _ spice  _ spice,  _ food  _ spice.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I don’t think Master Tholme would let me bring  _ spice  _ spice back with us,” Quinlan teased, and Obi-Wan huffed, cracking a reluctant grin. “Anything else I need to know?”

“I think we covered it,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Use  _ Ba’ji  _ instead of Master, don’t bow, and don’t ask anyone to take their  _ buy’ce  _ off, just wait for them to do it.” He ticked a finger for each point, and then nodded.

Quinlan nodded back. “Got it. At least the upside to spending so little time in the Temple is that we get to go to lots of cool places. I have a feeling this mission is going to be  _ fun. _ ”

Obi-Wan groaned, shaking his head. “Please don’t say that, Quinlan. I  _ know  _ what your definition of fun means, and it usually includes explosions.”

“That was  _ one time. _ ”

“ _ Three.  _ It was three times.”

Quinlan paused to think about that and then shook his head. “Only one of those was my fault. The other two were just good timing.”

Obi-Wan snorted, and then grew serious. “I don’t know why you’re going to  _ Manda’yaim,  _ but I have a feeling it’s important. Isn’t it?” Quinlan nodded, feeling his stomach twist again. He  _ wanted  _ to tell his friend the truth, because he didn’t think it was fair for the Council and Master Yaddle to send them to investigate  _ Obi-Wan’s father  _ without him knowing about it, but he’d been ordered not to. Plus, from everything Obi-Wan had said about Ben Kenobi, Quinlan didn’t think they were going to find anything  _ bad  _ that the Order would have to take action on, and that was the only thing convincing him to keep his mouth shut about it. “May the Force be with you,  _ vod. _ ”

Obi-Wan stuck his hand out, no doubt expecting Quinlan to grab his wrist the way Mandalorians did, but Quinlan gave him a toothy grin and  _ pounced,  _ tackling him to the floor and not hugging him so much as sitting on him.

“ _ Quinlan. _ ”

“I’ll tell your dad you said hi,” Quinlan said, slumping down and using his dead weight to resist Obi-Wan’s attempts to push him off. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, lying on top of the armor plates, but Quinlan wasn’t going to move  _ now.  _ He was too stubborn for that. Obi-Wan huffed and used just a  _ touch  _ of the Force to unceremoniously shove him to the side to sprawl on the floor next to him. Neither of them made any move to get up.

“Be careful,” Obi-Wan said, staring at the ceiling with a light furrow between his brows.

“I’ll be fine, Obi. I’ll have Master Tholme with me.” Obi-Wan turned his head to give him a  _ look,  _ and Quinlan sighed. “ _ Ba’ji  _ Tholme.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a smile, but it was fleeting. He bit his lip, and then looked to the ceiling again. “I just… have a bad feeling about this.”

Quinlan wasn’t much good at sensing the future—his talents lay more with the past, given his psychometry—but he knew Obi-Wan was. He even had visions, sometimes. He sat up, catching Obi-Wan’s eye, and nodded firmly. “We’ll be careful. I promise.”

“ _ Vor’e.  _ And  _ please  _ don’t forget—”

“Not to  _ bow, _ ” Quinlan finished again. “I  _ know.  _ We won’t.”

* * *

There had been another disturbance in the Force, and if his senses did not fail him—and they had not in over sixty years, since his days as an Apprentice—it centered on Mandalore.  _ Again. _

Hego Damask II was not a stupid man. He would not have obtained, and then managed to keep, his various positions without a keen intellect. Balancing his leadership of the Banking Clan, his relationship with the Hutts, and an over-zealous, murderous Apprentice was a tall order, but he managed. He had to, for the sake of the Grand Design.

The current events on Mandalore threatened that Grand Design; it would not even take a mind of his caliber to realize that. By now, he had expected them to begin crumbling. It had not much mattered to Hego whether it was the New Mandalorians or the Death Watch who won the Clan War. The New Mandalorians would have turned the once-proud warrior culture into toothless tookas, making them an easy target when the time came, and no challenge to their plans in the meantime. And the Death Watch would have rabidly followed him, which would also make them easy targets. They would be so eager for a return to their conquering past—a past when they had been allied with the Sith—that they would  _ give  _ him control, and happily. Either way, Mandalore should not have been able to mend the fissures the Sith had so careful nurtured for centuries now.

And yet they had, all because the “True Mandalorians” won the war. Mandalore was now united as it hadn’t been for centuries, under one leader, one true  _ Mand’alor.  _ Mereel was a  _ good  _ leader. That made him a threat, but not one Hego could do anything about. The man’s widespread support meant that killing him would only create a martyr, cementing the Mandalorians’ bonds to each other even further.

It did not help matters that Mereel the Reformer now seemed intent on repairing relations with the rest of the galaxy, including—perhaps especially—the Jedi Order. Hego had even heard the rumors that there had been a group of Jedi  _ younglings  _ in Little Keldabe, though he had not believed it until he had seen the holos for himself. And once he had, he had understood.

Mandalorians became absolutely rabid, feral beasts when their children were threatened. Their love of their young went to extremes—there was literally nothing a Mandalorian worth the name would not do for a child. So, naturally, it was a child that was bringing the two together for the first time since the last, and only, Mandalorian Jedi, Tarre Vizsla.

Hego had looked into the matter. The boy’s name was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Stewjoni in origin. Not traditionally Mandalorian. The boy’s father was listed in the Jedi’s records as Ben Kenobi. And that was the sum total of the information he had been able to find, on either of them. Hego knew he would have had better luck searching the Mandalorian databases, but his access had been severely restricted once his allies among the Death Watch had been killed. He could, of course, slice his way in easily, but they would notice such a breach, and remaining unseen, unnoticed, was the key to the success of the Grand Design.

The Mandalore matter had been, for several years, something he continued to put off for later. Until after Mereel died, perhaps. An outright assassination would not have benefited his plans, but a natural death—or for Mereel to fall in battle, unrelated to any of Hego’s pawns, at least any of those he currently had in play—would leave minimal scarring on the Mandalorian psyche. He would be forgotten more easily that way.

But now, with another  _ shift  _ in the Force towards the Light emanating from Mandalore, Hego could let it lie no longer. He nodded to himself and reached for his commlink. It took some time for the answer to come, but that was no surprise to him. His Apprentice led a public life, just as Hego did, and often had to duck out of meetings when he called. But he always answered, for he knew the consequences if he did not.

“ _ Master, _ ” his Apprentice greeted him.

“The situation on Mandalore has become more urgent,” Hego said, dispensing with any formal greetings. “Find me everything we have on them, and begin gathering infiltrators.”

“ _ It will be done, Master Plagueis. _ ”

“Of course it will,” Hego agreed. “I have commanded it. Do not fail me, Sidious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll see the Night Mother, and what Ben is willing to tell her... ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! :D There's a scene I really, really want to get to, and I have no self control! XD
> 
> To answer winter_sunshine's question... Ben sort of keeps up with his 'saber practice. I'll address that later on (when Ben sees the Jedi again), but he definitely doesn't use it in battle when he goes with the rest of the Haat'ade on a contract. That would've created so many questions for anyone who wasn't one of the Haat'ade and knew his backstory, and word probably would've gotten back to the Order about a lightsaber-wielding Mandalorian, LOL. So he practices with it, but he's used it in very few real combat situations since Concord Dawn.

Ben was pleased by the welcoming committee the Night Mother had no doubt sent, though he could tell that Arla was not. Last time, Mother Talzin had had him and Anakin surrounded by eight Night Sisters. This time, she had only sent four; they weren’t even pointing their weapons at them, instead aiming politely at the ground, though they still had their bows drawn.

“Hello there,” Ben said brightly. “I believe Mother Talzin is expecting me.”

“The other was  _ not  _ expected,” one of the Night Sisters hissed, and Arla’s hand flinched towards her blaster.

“She is here at the request of  _ Mand’alor  _ Mereel,” Ben told them. “He does not care for his  _ verde  _ travelling alone. She will not be attending my… exchange with the Mother.”

The Night Sisters remained tense for a moment, studying Arla, and then the one who had spoken nodded. “We will take you both to the Mother. She may stay, if the Mother agrees.”

“Splendid. Please, lead on,” Ben said graciously, waving a hand. The Sister threw him a dark look before moving, one of the others falling into step with her, and the other two just behind them. It made Arla tense, to be surrounded, but not Ben. He had worn his cortosis  _ buy’ce,  _ and was clearly able to sense that they were wary, prepared for conflict, but they had no intention to attack first. That was all the reassurance he would get from the Night Sisters, but it was more than good enough for him.

The walk up the path to the Night Mother’s sanctum was just as Ben remembered it: dark, cold, and a bit eerie. He could clearly sense more Night Sisters along the way, looking down at them from the jagged, rocky cliffs on either side of the path, though he could not see them. Finally, they reached the tall, dark building that housed the Night Mother’s divination room, he had eventually learned it was called.

Mother Talzin was also just as Ben had remembered her: tall, imposing, with a keenly assessing gaze. She smiled at them both and tipped her head.

“ _ Olaram at  _ Dathomir, _ Mando’ade, _ ” she said. “I am the Mother.” Mother Talzin eyed Arla, and tilted her head slightly. “Who is this one?”

Arla warred with herself for a moment before reaching up to remove her  _ buy’ce.  _ Ben smiled beneath his own, rather proud of her for that. Jango would have kept his on no matter what, though removing it, in this case, was a good move.

“ _ Ner gai  _ Arla, Clan Fett, House Mereel,” she introduced herself. “Thank you for your welcome.”

The Mother smiled. “Such manners,” she said, gaze flicking to Ben. “Sisters, see that the  _ Ad be’Alor  _ is comfortable.”

“Yes, Mother,” one of the Sisters said, bowing to the Night Mother before approaching Arla. “This way.”

Arla looked to Ben, who nodded and reached up to remove his own  _ buy’ce,  _ smiling at her. “I’ll come find you when the Mother and I have finished.”

Arla nodded back, steeled herself, straightening her shoulders, and turned to follow the Night Sister. The others filed out after them, leaving Ben and the Night Mother alone in the room. Mother Talzin gestured to the seat to her right before sitting back down in the large chair at the head of the table, and Ben took his own, setting his  _ buy’ce  _ down on the table beside him.

“What name shall I call you?” Mother Talzin asked, and Ben blinked in bemusement before remembering that he hadn’t offered it when he’d spoken to her.

“Ben, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel,” he said, bowing his head. “I apologize for neglecting it earlier.”

Mother Talzin hummed, smiling at him again, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. She said nothing further, so neither did Ben, the two of them sitting in silence, staring at each other. Finally, one of the Night Sisters returned with two glasses, tall and thin, with a strange green mist floating out of the top. The Night Sister held out the tray, and Mother Talzin took one glass, motioning for Ben to take the other. It was violently green, and glowing slightly.

“The Waters of Life, I take it?” he asked.

“Yes. We must both drink completely for the ritual to work,” Mother Talzin said. Ben nodded. Because he wasn’t  _ completely  _ reckless with his own life, no matter what Jaster liked to claim, Ben reached out with the Force to probe at it carefully before drinking. Mother Talzin clearly felt it, but he sensed only amusement from her in return, and nothing but a sense of  _ foreboding  _ about the potion, not a warning of danger.

He toasted her with the cup, and, amusement flaring again from her, she tapped hers against his. In unison, they brought the glasses to their lips, and drank.

* * *

Obi-Wan was  _ ecstatic.  _ This term had been stressful, and he had spent the entirety of it perpetually sore and exhausted, but  _ this  _ made it all worth it.

“What’s that smile for?” Bant asked, sending a little tendril of happiness at his own happiness down their bond. Obi-Wan grinned widely and waved the datapad in his hand.

“I got my assessment from  _ Ba’ji  _ Dooku, now that the class is over,” he said. “Listen to this: ‘Initiate Kenobi will require years of study to become proficient in Makashi.’” He looked up at her expectantly, and Bant frowned at him.

“That… doesn’t sound very nice,” Bant said slowly, and Obi-Wan snorted.

“It is when you speak Dooku,” he said. “And Hiilo showed me his, and that one said, ‘I have no complaints regarding Padawan Nuur’s efforts this term, though I would not recommend a focus on Makashi in further training.’”

“...oh,” Bant said flatly, and Obi-Wan huffed.

“What makes me happy is that he thinks I  _ could  _ be good at it,” Obi-Wan explained. “I’m just an Initiate, Bant. I’m  _ ten.  _ I don’t expect to be good at Makashi yet. What he’s  _ saying  _ is that my Makashi is Initiate-level right now, but it  _ could  _ be good if I work at it. I’m happy that  _ the  _ Master of Makashi thinks I could do it.”

“I get it now,” Bant said, smiling at little lopsidedly at him. “That’s a nice thing for him to think, but the way he said it was…”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I heard the way he talked to  _ Ba’ji  _ Jinn, and  _ Ba’ji  _ Jinn was his Padawan once. It’s… just how he is.”

“If you say so,” Bant said doubtfully, and Obi-Wan nodded, still smiling.

“I do.”

“What… do you know what you’re doing for your class next term? You won’t have your new  _ beskar’gam  _ by then, will you?” Bant asked, a little sadly. Obi-Wan frowned. He  _ did  _ wish that he could be in the same class as Bant, but he couldn’t, not with the training armor he had now. And he couldn’t have helped that—all first training  _ beskar’gam  _ was the same: the traditional heavy set. It was meant to get their muscles used to carrying around the extra weight as quickly as possible, and as their fighting styles developed over time, they could make changes to suit them better as they got resized. That way they’d already customized the set they wanted by the time they turned thirteen, and it was time to forge it out of real  _ beskar.  _ True  _ beskar  _ was too precious to waste on multiple resizings and too many rounds of modification, after all, and the  _ goran’e  _ far too busy.

“ _ Ba’ji  _ Drallig said that one of the Temple Guards agreed to teach me once I have the flex-plate for the back,” Obi-Wan answered once he’d dragged his thoughts back on topic. “But that won’t be ‘til I get refitted after my next growth spurt, and who knows when that will be. So next term I’m taking a Soresu class.”

“I think I like Soresu,” Bant said, brightening a little. “It’s… calmer. Steadier, I’d say, than Ataru and Makashi. But… I still like Shii-Cho the best.” She blushed a little, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, Bant,” he said honestly, shrugging one shoulder. “ _ Ba’ji  _ Fisto fights with Shii-Cho.” Bant brightened a bit at that and nodded.

“Maybe we can practice Soresu together next term,” Bant suggested, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’d like that.” Bant smiled back, but it faded quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for the Gathering,” Bant said quickly, as if she thought if she didn’t get the words out immediately, she’d lose the courage to say them. Obi-Wan frowned, wondering what the right thing to say to that was. What would  _ buir  _ say if Obi-Wan said that to him?

“Is that because the Force says it’s not time for you yet, or because you’re scared?” Obi-Wan asked, and Bant flushed, squirming a little. That was his answer, then. Obi-Wan mustered a smile for her. “I’m scared too, Bant.”

“You are?” she asked, and Obi-Wan snorted.

“I think we’d be  _ utreekov’e  _ if we weren’t at least a  _ little  _ scared,” Obi-Wan said. “The  _ Ba’ji’se  _ warned us that Initiates die, sometimes, if they fail badly enough. I think that’s worth being afraid.”

Bant looked relieved at that, knowing she wasn’t alone, and Obi-Wan smiled. “But… you’re going anyway, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Obi-Wan answered immediately. “It’s not about not being scared, Bant. It’s about accepting the fear and doing what you have to anyway. That’s what my  _ buir  _ says, and that’s worked for me so far.”

“Your  _ buir  _ sounds wise, like the Masters,” Bant said warmly, and Obi-Wan’s smile faltered slightly.

“He is.”

“I’m a little jealous of Quinlan, getting to meet him, and see  _ Manda’yaim, _ ” Bant said, and then she frowned, her large eyes narrowing. “ _ Ugh.  _ I never thought I would be  _ jealous  _ of  _ Quinlan Vos. _ ”

Obi-Wan laughed at that and shook his head. “He’s not so bad, Bant.”

“He’s always in trouble for  _ something, _ ” Bant grumbled. “ _ And  _ he uses his psychometry to cheat at cards.”

“Everyone cheats at cards,” Obi-Wan pointed out, knowing he couldn’t argue with her first point. Quinlan  _ was  _ trouble. “It’s just a matter of who’s  _ best  _ at it. Playing with Quinlan is good practice.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bant said, frowning at his hands. “You always have gloves on now.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “That does help a little.” Bant rolled her eyes, but giggled, and Obi-Wan smiled back. He let them both sit for a moment, the contentment of the moment washing along their bond, before he asked, “Do you want to meditate with me? About Ilum, and the Gathering?”

Bant gave him a rather wobbly smile and nodded. “Yes, please.”

* * *

Ben was Ben, and he was Obi-Wan, and he was Mother Talzin—

“What did this  _ do? _ ” Ben asked, and he could feel his own morbid curiosity about how this all actually  _ worked  _ intertwining with the Mother’s amusement as if both feelings were his own. His vision began to blur, green creeping into his field of vision until it overtook it entirely.

“Our minds are merging,” she said. “Do not worry; you will not be harmed. Focus only on the answer I seek, and I will focus only on what you seek.”

“I would have appreciated a bit of warning,” Ben grumbled, but the Night Mother could clearly tell that he wasn’t actually offended, simply startled, and hummed.

“ _ Focus, _ ” the Mother commanded, and Ben was not certain she was even speaking aloud anymore, or directly in his—their? Force, this was odd—mind. “Ask your first question.”

“Where is Maul?” Ben asked.

The Night Mother hummed, and Ben’s vision suddenly cleared, snapping into focus in an instant.

And there was Maul. Ben would know him anywhere, and he easily recognized those markings, even on a much, much younger face. He was just a  _ child  _ when the Sith had taken him.

_ Where are you? _

The view began to widen, revealing Maul in a small, dark room. He was scared, and cold, and he didn’t know when—or  _ if _ —Master was going to come back for him, or if he’d be let out only to have to run from the monsters on the grounds again—

**_Where_ ** _ are you? _

It was only a flash, an impression—a green, blue, and grey marble, floating in space, sectors away—

It was too far, and the place too shielded by the Sith; even Mother Talzin’s inherent connection to all Dathomiri could not overcome that resistance. She  _ pushed  _ once more, repeating Ben’s question like a shrill screech.

**_Where are you?_ **

_ Hunt _ —

Ben’s vision went green again, and he breathed slowly. Hunt? What did that mean?

“Later,” Mother Talzin sighed. “I am not finished. This is the man who took him.”

Ben sucked in a breath at the next face. He, too, was so much younger than Ben had ever seen him before, but he would know this man anywhere, just as he would Maul. Even though his hair was more red than grey, even though he had a kindly smile (he had smiled like that  _ then,  _ too) and wide blue eyes, face nearly free of wrinkles, Ben knew who  _ this  _ was.

“Sidious.”

The Night Mother hummed. “You know him already.”

“Unfortunately,” Ben returned. “Well, that is  _ something  _ to be going on.  _ Vor’e.  _ I believe it is my turn, now?”

“As agreed. Now: what  _ are  _ you,  _ Mando’ad? _ ”

Ben took a deep breath, turning his focus back in, allowing Mother Talzin’s consciousness to slide into his memories along with him. Not that he could have stopped her, their minds were so intertwined.

Best to start at the beginning of everything, he decided, and plunged them both back to Naboo, a lifetime ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I lied a little bit! I said we were going to see Mother Talzin this chapter *and* what Ben was willing to tell her, LOL. Not so, I lie.
> 
> The next chapter, though, will be a first: no baby!Obi-Wan, just Ben. Mostly for the sake of semi-consistent chapter lengths (excluding the first chapter, written and posted back when this AU was just a one-shot, LOL).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :D
> 
> There was a double update yesterday, so please make sure you read chapters 12 and 13 first! :) Otherwise this won't much make sense, LOL.

_ The reactor room. The red haze, that final blow, and he felt himself scream, but he couldn’t hear it. It seemed like an eternity before the gate opened, and he threw himself at the Zabrak, anger and fear and pain echoing between them. He was teetering on the edge of two Falls, one into the melting pit, and one to the Dark. _

_ But he had promised. He had promised Qui-Gon that he would not Fall, and he wasn’t about to break that promise, not when that might be the last thing his Master ever saw, if he did. _

_ The moment of indecision cost him, but the fall into the reactor pit was far less damning than the other sort would have been. He forced himself to breathe; calling the Force to him, calling the  _ **_Light_ ** _ to brace himself against the Dark, he leapt. Qui-Gon’s ‘saber landed in his hand, and he struck. The Zabrak’s expression was one of surprise, and then he fell back, into the pit, the two halves of his bisected body separating as he fell. _

Mother Talzin paused, anger warring with curiosity as she recognized the Zabrak for who he was.  _ Rage  _ flared in her, burning so bright that Ben grimaced and wished he could shield himself from it, but that was impossible, with it echoing around his own mind from hers. He breathed through it instead, waiting for her to collect herself. The Mother didn’t  _ voice  _ her questions, but she didn’t need to for Ben to hear them, intertwined as their thoughts were.

_ If this was a vision, why was Ben younger in it than he now was, and without armor? And Ben Kenobi was clearly no Jedi. _

_ What  _ **_was_ ** _ this? _

Finally, curiosity won out, and she moved on, the  _ rage  _ carefully tucked away as she pressed him to continue.

_ “Ventress. And here I thought this mission would be unpleasant.” _

_ “The pleasure’s all mine, my dear Obi-Wan. I’ve missed you.” _

That exchange, and the ensuing ‘saber clash, garnered the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow from the Mother, and Ben couldn’t help but smile at that. He did view Ventress in a certain… fond sort of light. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of Jedi she could have been—or would be. Mother Talzin, of course, heard that thought, and paused at it, and Ben sighed as he tried to impress upon her  _ patience. We’ll get there. The context is necessary, I’m afraid. _

Grudgingly, she prompted him for the next memory.

_ Maul wasn’t dead. Maul was alive, and Qui-Gon was dead, and now  _ **_Satine_ ** _ was dead. And Sundari burned,  _ **_again,_ ** _ just as it had when they’d first met. _

_ Maul was  _ **_alive._ ** _ Half-mad from isolation and his injuries, but alive. How was that  _ **_possible?_ **

The Mother’s anger rose again, and Ben forced himself to breathe through it, knowing he wouldn’t be able to properly release it until he was no longer sharing his mind with a Darksider. She raged for a long moment, more at Maul’s fate than at Ben personally, thank the Force, until, at last, she calmed enough to prompt him to the next memory.

_ Dooku had betrayed Asajj. It became a convoluted mess, after that, and he only realized much later what had happened to spark all of this, but that was where it all began. He wasn’t surprised by it; betrayal was the way of the Sith, after all. Apprentices turned on Masters, and Masters on their Apprentices. _

_ But the ripples that created… Savage Oppress had only been another pawn in the Night Mother and Night Sisters’ attempts to kill Dooku for his betrayal of Asajj. _

_ Their attempts had led to the slaughter of civilians by Savage, on Dooku’s orders, and culminated in Dooku’s retaliation against Dathomir. The Council had sent a team to investigate, but they were far too late. When they arrived on Dathomir, there was no one left to find. _

Mother Talzin paused again at that, confusion, suspicion, and disbelief echoing through their joined minds, deep in denial as she was. But she  _ couldn’t  _ deny the echoes of the sorrow Ben had felt at that, when he’d heard. He hadn’t had any quarrel with the Night Mother, or the Sisters. They hadn’t deserved to be massacred.

“What is this?” Mother Talzin asked, and again, Ben was struck by how odd it was when she communicated in actual words, since he couldn’t tell if she spoke aloud or directly into his thoughts.

Without answering, Ben prompted her towards the next memory. Annoyance tinged her curiosity at that, but she followed.

_ Asajj was dead. Quinlan had Fallen for her, and they had both failed in their mission to kill Dooku. Quinlan was devastated, and Quinlan was his friend, but he was on the Council that was going to have to debate his fate. Quinlan was Fallen, after all, and he had broken the code for Asajj. _

_ But she’d been a friend of sorts, too. With a sigh, he realized he would have to recuse himself from this vote. He couldn’t set aside his emotions, not in this. Not when he’d known they’d been wrong to assign them this mission from the beginning. _

_ He’d had a bad feeling about it, and unfortunately, he never seemed to be wrong with those. _

One memory swirled into the next as Mother Talzin began to speed more quickly through them—

_ They’d saved the Chancellor. Dooku was dead, and now Grievous was dead. _

_ Perhaps this war could finally end. _

_ The Force  _ **_shrieked_ ** _ in both pain and warning, but he had no time to react as the shot hit the cliff beside him. It was a long way down into the water, and he instinctively reached for the Force to slow himself, but recoiled at the overwhelming  _ **_Darkness,_ ** _ the death-pain-fear echoing from what seemed to be  _ **_every_ ** _ corner of the galaxy. _

_ What was  _ **_happening_ ** _? His bonds were winking out, one by one, and, oh,  _ **_Force,_ ** _ they were  _ **_dying,_ ** _ the Jedi were dying, all of them were _ —

_ Somehow, he’d survived. Why him, he didn’t know, but despite all of his failures, he’d lived. _

_ Not that he was left with much of a life these days. Now, he only had the Force (shrouded in Darkness as it was without the Lights of his family), the lightsabers hidden in his trunk (three of them; his, his Master’s, and his Padawan’s), and the spark of hope in the young boy he guarded _ —

_ Maul had come again. He’d sensed it the moment he entered the system. He had hoped to avoid him altogether; his shielding was more than sufficient to hide him and Luke, if his long years without any sign of Vader served as any proof. _

_ But that was not to be. Maul’s manipulation of Ezra Bridger had led them here, to this final confrontation. He hoped that they both walked away. He hoped that Maul would make that choice. _

_ And then he threatened Luke. Oh, not explicitly, but he was  _ **_dripping_ ** _ with malice in the Force. _

_ That settled it, then. Maul could not be allowed to touch Luke, but now that he realized what was at stake, Maul would not simply leave, either. _

_ He finally lit his ‘saber, blue springing forth to meet red. They sized each other up, and he changed his stance, adopting an Ataru guard as he’d done so very long ago now. Maul smiled. _

_ Parry, parry,  _ **_slash._ **

_ The fight was over in three moves, and he deactivated his ‘saber just in time to catch Maul’s falling body. _

_ “Is he the Chosen One?” Maul gasped. _

_ “He is.” _

_ “He will _ — _ avenge us.” _

_ He felt Maul’s spirit leave his body, and closed the man’s eyes. He remained there for a long moment, dwelling on those final words. _

_ Us. Maul had said “avenge  _ **_us_ ** _.” _

_ They were survivors, he and Maul. Survivors of the Sith who had taken everything from them both. He could not claim vengeance, not as a Jedi, but he sincerely hoped that Maul got it _ .

Mother Talzin finally stopped again, turning that moment over, and Ben gritted his teeth. Finally, too hungry for the answers she sought to dwell on that, she prompted him to continue.

_ He was an old man, now. Old well before his time, the genocide against the Jedi slamming into him through the Force and the sudden severing of nearly all of his bonds simultaneously taking a physical toll. _

_ He knew he couldn’t win this fight. His heart wasn’t in it, just as it hadn’t been the last time he’d faced Vader. But he didn’t need to win, only to delay them. _

_ “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” _

_ The Sith’s red ‘saber connected, and he went into the Force _ —

Mother Talzin pulled even more eagerly at the memories, and Ben grimaced, bracing himself, her  _ fascination  _ with his previous life rather off-putting.

_ Death was… strange. Not unpleasant, but not quite… anything. It simply  _ **_was._ ** _ He thought this was the sort of peace Jedi eternally sought, and he was not even truly One with the Force yet. _

_ Luke heard him before he could see him, though that was unsurprising, given how little training he had been able to impart on the boy. But he was, at least, able to get his message through. _

_ “Go to Dagobah.” Go to Master Yoda _ —

_ Luke lost a hand, and gained the terrible truth. _

_ “The truth is often what we make of it; you heard what you wanted to hear, believed what you wanted to believe _ —”

_ They’d won. _

_ After everything, they’d won. Sidious was dead, as was Vader _ — _ though not before he’d returned to the Light, returning Anakin Skywalker to the Force. _

_ He had accomplished his purpose here. The ancient enemy was defeated at last, the Sith no more. Luke and Leia could see to things from here, and the others, already passed into the Force, were calling to him. Not so much in words, but the traces of who they had been were woven into the fabric of the Force, and he ached to join them. _

_ He smiled and let go of the anchors that bound him to the living world _ —

_ And then he woke up in a grassy field. _

**_Forward,_ ** _ the Force called, and he went. _

Ben ended the memories there, and the Mother let him.

“I will release you now,” she said, and Ben breathed a sigh of relief as he felt her presence sliding away from his, leaving him alone in his own mind, and with a  _ pounding  _ headache.

Ben blinked several times, and his vision cleared. He was sitting in the same spot he had been, as was Talzin. With the darkness of the room, he had no way to tell how much time had passed.

“Those were not mere seeings,” Mother Talzin said, and Ben huffed.

“Hardly.”

“That explains what I sensed in you,” she said. “The magick that binds us to Dathomir is blood magick. The blood soaking this planet is ancient, and gives us our great power. It even gives us some power over death.”

Ben nodded, then grimaced as that made the pounding in his head worsen. “The resurrection of the dead.”

Mother Talzin hummed. “No resurrection of ours is ever complete,” she said. “Our souls are given to Dathomir, and the shells left behind remain to be imbued with the power to defend their living Sisters. We cannot will someone to  _ live  _ again. But you… I could sense your strange connection to death. That was your first life?”

“It was.”

The Night Mother hummed. “You omitted much.”

“I showed you what was most relevant to you, and just enough to understand the circumstances.”

“So you did,” she agreed.

“Do you find the story worthy?” Ben asked, and Mother Talzin smiled toothily, leaning forward.

“You were brave to show me what you have done to my children. But the line between bravery and foolishness is small,” the Mother said, and Ben raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Her expression turned thoughtful, then, peering at him carefully, and Ben couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine at her scrutiny. “You truly wish to save them.”

“I do, yes. Before the Sith can get their claws into either of them. _You_ are not my enemy, Mother Talzin, and neither are they.” _Not yet_ went unsaid, but not unheard.

Mother Talzin smiled sharply at him, a gleam in her eyes that made the hair on the back of Ben's neck stand on end. “I will show you the way to Asajj.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Night Mother. I have so many plans for her and Dathomir, too. :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for all of your comments and kudos and subscriptions! I'm pretty sure I sound like a mouse with all the squeaking I'm doing XD

Mayla had not been expecting to be invited back to the Temple; now that Obi-Wan had visited Little Keldabe without incident, she had assumed that all of his armor appointments would take place at her forge. And she had certainly not exected to be called back quite this soon. Obi-Wan must have either had quite the growth spurt or irreparably damaged some part of his _beskar’gam._ Either way, if her _vod’ad_ needed her services, she would be there.

Two days after her acceptance, Mayla was greeted on the Temple steps by a bald, dark-skinned man she had never met before. He nodded deeply to her, but did not bow, and Mayla nodded back.

“I am _Ba’ji_ Mace Windu,” he said, and Mayla hummed in understanding. This was the _Jetii’ba’ji_ who kept in touch with the _Mand’alor._

“Well met, _Ba’ji_ Windu. I am Mayla, Clan Tenau, House Mereel. She/her/hers.”

“Thank you for coming,” Windu said. “I have a… request to make of you.”

“Oh?” she asked, and Windu nodded again.

“Walk with me,” he requested, and Mayla nodded, following him up the steps to an alcove just outside the doors with two semi-circular benches facing each other. He sat, and gestured for her to do the same. She sank down slowly and removed her _buy’ce._

“I had assumed I was asked here to see to Obi-Wan’s _beskar’gam,_ ” she said, and Windu sighed.

“You are,” he said. “I need your help, but the situation requires some explanation of Jedi traditions.”

“I’m listening,” Mayla said slowly.

“The Order has certain Trials Jedi must pass through to reach the next step towards Knighthood,” Windu began. “The Knighthood Trials are the most well-known, as that is a Padawan’s promotion to a fully-fledged member of the Order, but Initiates also have Trials they must pass to be eligible to become Padawan learners.” Mayla blinked at him, and Windu blinked back before realizing why she was confused. “Padawans are apprentices.”

“I see.”

“Most of the Initiate Trials are fairly straightforward. One is to recite the Jedi Code, and another to prove the strength of their connection to the Force,” Windu explained. “But the last is more difficult. Initiates are taken to a planet in the Unknown Regions, where they must enter a series of ice tunnels and caverns to find the kyber crystal which calls to them in the Force. That is called the Gathering.”

Mayla nodded slowly, struggling to make sense of the unfamiliar concepts. Though perhaps it would be something like a _verd’goten?_ It was after their _verd’goten,_ after all, that _Mando’ade_ began their own apprenticeships, and the challenge of a _verd’goten,_ proving their mettle—yes, that sounded like these Trials.

“I think I understand,” she said, and Windu nodded. “But what does this have to do with Obi-Wan?”

“His Clan is preparing to undertake the Gathering in a few months,” Windu said. “There has been some… debate amongst the Initiates Council about whether Initiate Kenobi should be allowed to wear his armor, or if he must wear Jedi tunics for this.” Mayla frowned deeply at that, and Windu nodded, brows pinching together in a not-quite-glower. “I have tried to explain to them that Initiate Kenobi’s armor is more than just clothing, or protection. But they insist that if he wears it, having that additional protection will mean that he will not rely on the Force alone as he should for this Trial.”

“It is dangerous?” Mayla asked, and Windu nodded sharply.

“Yes. We only send those we are all but certain are ready, and even still, we sometimes lose them.” There was a small spark of grief and sorrow in his eyes, and Mayla’s own heart ached at that. The same was true of a _verd’goten._ Some thought they were ready, and were not; others were over-confident and chose targets they couldn’t handle. They kept backup nearby, but these things had to be done on their own. Sometimes, they were too late to save them.

“And they believe that Obi-Wan’s armor would hamper his connection to the _ka’ra?_ ” Mayla clarified, and Windu nodded.

“Something like that, yes. They fear it might cause him not to open himself to the Force as he must, if he is to succeed.”

Mayla nodded again. “I understand the problem. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Windu nodded again, opening his mouth to speak, but Mayla cut him off. “When may I speak to your Council?”

“The matter is on their agenda for the day after tomorrow, after midmeal,” Windu said slowly. Mayla nodded.

“I will be ready. We will convince them.”

* * *

Depa had few complaints about her unexpected stay on Mandalore. She wished Master Plo would wake sooner rather than later, but tried to give as much of her impatience to the Force as she could, and settled for meditating near him when she could not seem to quiet her mind.

Though it was not entirely worry for her fellow Jedi that made it difficult for Depa to center herself. Now that she had been cleared by _Baar’ur_ Unixe, Depa had been given a set of rooms not far from the medcenter, and spent large portions of her day wandering the halls of the stronghold, mingling with whichever Mandalorians were willing to approach her, of which there were surprisingly many. Most of them even removed their helmets to speak to her. But, much as she appreciated the gesture, knowing now that it was a signal from them that they did not view her as a threat, the removal of the _beskar_ they wore made them so much _louder_ in the Force. And they were a passionate people, that much was true. Having to consciously maintain her best shields at all times was beginning to wear on her. She itched to practice her katas; _Vapaad_ was always good for releasing this much passion.

But, aside from those two facts, Depa was rather enjoying herself.

She smiled and thought about how much Master Plo would enjoy meeting all of the curious Mandalorian younglings wandering around the stronghold (usually looking for her, though she also usually found them first, with the help of the Force), and brought herself up from meditation to look at him. He felt very peaceful, but also very far-away, as those deep in a Healing Trance often did. She wondered how bad the oxygen sickness must have been for him to still be under. Perhaps she could ask _Baar’ur_ Unixe for his chart, when she saw him next.

The door slid open as if on cue, and Depa looked up, blinking and then bowing her head. “ _Mand’alor._ ”

Mereel tipped his head in return, giving her a small smile, his helmet held under one arm. “ _Jetii._ I was told I would find you here.”

Depa smiled. “I prefer to meditate here, when I can, to feel his presence.”

Mereel nodded slowly. “I spoke to your _Ba’ji_ again. He’s sending a team, a _Jetii_ and a _Jetii’ad._ We’re hoping to negotiate an information-sharing accord, because of this pirate issue.”

Depa blinked at him. “My ‘ _Ba’ji?_ ’” she repeated, and Mereel nodded again.

“Windu.”

“I see,” Depa said slowly. “What is a _Ba’ji?_ ”

“It’s short for _Ba’jur’alor._ A teacher.”

“I see,” she repeated, nodding slowly. **_Your_ ** _Ba’ji,_ he had said. “Did he tell you that I was his Padawan?” Somehow, Depa doubted it. Mace wasn’t the type to offer that sort of information, though she thought she knew who had.

“ _Nayc._ Ben did,” Mereel said easily. Depa smiled.

“Of course.”

Mereel stared at her for a moment, and Depa continued to smile back; finally, Mereel shook his head. “Do you know a _Ba’ji_ called Tholme, with a _Jetii’ad,_ Vos?”

“In passing, yes,” Depa confirmed. Everyone knew who Quinlan Vos was; that boy was a troublemaker. All Jedi knew to be on-guard when he was around, and not even the Council Masters were exempt from getting caught up in his prank wars. Depa envied him his ability to cause mayhem, wishing she had been more inventive in her own mischievous creche days. “They are being sent here?”

“ _Elek._ Apparently Vos is a friend of Obi-Wan’s,” Mereel said, and Depa’s smile grew.

“I’m certain Sir Kenobi will look forward to meeting him, in that case,” she said, and Mereel frowned.

“He’s off-planet at the moment,” Mereel said. “I have no idea when he’ll be back.”

Depa sighed. “That is rather poor timing.”

Mereel huffed a laugh at that. “ _Gar serim._ You—” He cut himself off, looking just past her, and Depa turned to follow his gaze, jumping up from her seat.

Master Plo was finally waking up.

* * *

The Initiates Council was, in fact, more of a committee. All five of its members were drawn from the High Council, and one was conspicuously absent. The knowledge that Plo Koon was on Mandalore hung over them rather heavily as they convened for the day’s session.

Shaak was not looking forward to this. Without Plo, she and Adi would be tied against Yarael and Ki-Adi, who barely accepted that the boy could be a Mandalorian Jedi in the first place. Shaak, personally, found this whole argument tedious and unnecessary, though she was curious who Mace had decided to bring before them. He had asked for a few days to consult a “subject matter expert,” which had then become a request to present this expert to them. It had been easy enough to gain Yarael and Ki-Adi’s agreement; though they might disapprove of Initiate Kenobi’s Mandalorian heritage, they were undeniably curious about Mandalorians. As they all were, knowing so little about them beyond rumors and legends.

Mace arrived promptly, as expected, but the woman in full armor behind him was a surprise. Shaak nodded deeply to her, as did Adi, though Yarael and Oppo both bowed at the shoulders. The woman bowed her head in return, and then hit a button on her vambrace. A hovercrate followed her into the room, and the doors slid shut behind her. The crate set down beside her as Mace took up residence on the side of the room, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes.

“I am Mayla, Clan Tenau, House Mereel,” she said. “I am _Goran be Tenau._ I serve as armorer to my Clan, and any of House Mereel who are in need.”

“Master Windu did ask to bring an expert in the matter before us,” Yarael said blandly. The woman tilted her head slightly, light bouncing off of her helmet, highlighting the prongs atop it.

“I do not plan to take much of your time,” the armorer said. “To come to the point quickly: what, specifically, are your objections regarding my _vod’ad_ wearing his _beskar’gam_ while searching for his kyber?”

“The only way to succeed during this Trial is to trust in the Force,” Ki-Adi said. “Completely.”

“And you believe that he would not be entrusting himself completely to the Force while wearing his _beskar’gam?_ ”

“It is a concern, yes,” Ki-Adi returned.

The armorer tilted her head slightly at that, and then nodded slowly. “Hold out your hands, please, palms up.” Ki-Adi did as he was instructed, and the armorer approached him. She removed the lid from the crate and reached inside to pull out a gauntlet, laying it in one of Ki-Adi’s hands. Another was removed from the crate and placed into Ki-Adi’s other hand. After that came a backplate, much like the rigid piece that had caused Initiate Kenobi so much trouble in his lessons, which she laid atop the other two pieces. Then the cuirass, and all of the other pieces until, finally, the helmet was laid atop it all.

“How heavy would you estimate that to be?” the armorer asked him, and Ki-Adi hummed.

“Perhaps fifteen kilos.”

“Close, but not quite. Twenty-one kilos,” the armorer corrected him. “This _beskar’gam_ is a standard training set, and is nearly identical to that which Obi-Wan now wears.”

Shaak did the math. She was not quite so familiar with human and near-human physiology as she perhaps should be, but Initiate Kenobi was only ten, and she guessed that he weighed around thirty kilos himself. To realize that he was now lugging around armor that weighed nearly as much as his own body was… startling.

“All Mandalorian younglings begin with this _beskar’gam?_ ” Shaak asked, pronouncing the unfamiliar word carefully. The armorer looked to her and nodded.

“ _Elek,_ though the full set is not usually presented at once,” she explained. “Pieces are given over several years, leading up to an _adiik’s_ tenth birthday, when they receive their final piece. They have time to gradually adjust to the weight and build the required muscle mass.”

“We did not realize that,” Adi said slowly, almost apologetically. The armorer hummed.

“An understandable lack of information,” she acknowledged. “But that begs the question: _how_ did Obi-Wan adjust so quickly to such heavy armor? How could his body handle such a burden?”

“Of course,” Shaak said, smiling as realization dawned. “He has been actively using the Force to strengthen himself.”

“ _Elek._ That is what he told me when I expressed my concern at the fitting,” the armorer said, tipping her head. She turned back to Ki-Adi and began taking the armor back, carefully replacing each piece back into the crate. She covered it again and stepped away, the crate following her before setting down beside her.

“We must confirm this with Initiate Kenobi himself, but if this is true, then it would soothe our concerns about his connection to the Force, and his reliance on it,” Adi said, and Shaak’s smile grew at the grudging agreement she felt from Yarael and Ki-Adi. The armorer nodded.

“I do have one more relevant piece of information for you,” she said. “There is precedent for allowing an Initiate to wear _beskar’gam_ during the finding of their kyber.”

“Precedent? What precedent could there be for such a thing?” Yarael asked, and the armorer chuckled.

“The only precedent that exists for a _Jetii’Manda,_ ” she answered. “Tarre Vizsla.”

“Records from that era are… less than reliable,” Yarael said doubtfully.

“Most are,” she agreed easily. “But unless I misunderstand the nature of a… What do you call them? The glowing cubes that can be opened only by the _ka’ra._ ”

“A holocron?” Shaak prompted, her smile slipping slightly. The armorer nodded.

“ _Elek,_ a holocron. Tarre Vizsla’s should count as a reliable record, should it not?” she asked.

There was only stunned silence at that. Shaak tilted her head, now over the worst of the surprise, and thought that, perhaps, such a claim was not terribly outlandish, given Mandalorian history.

“Tarre Vizsla’s _holocron,_ ” Ki-Adi repeated. “To have a chance to see an item of such historic importance…”

“It was closed to us for many years,” the armorer said. “We did not even know what it truly was until recently. None knew how to open it, until Ben Kenobi.”

Shaak blinked at that, possibly more startled by the insinuation that Ben Kenobi was not only Force-sensitive, but able to open a Jedi holocron, than she had been at the revelation that Tarre Vizsla had made one. Though, on second thought, that wasn’t terribly surprising either. Force-sensitivity often ran in families, after all, and Ben Kenobi was the first Mandalorian to give his child to the Jedi Order _since_ Tarre Vizsla. It would make sense, she decided, for him to have learned as much as he could about them. And holocrons varied wildly in complexity; who knew how simple it might have been to open that particular holocron?

“How appropriate,” Shaak murmured, and the armorer chuckled again.

“Indeed. But I digress,” she said. “The point remains that Tarre Vizsla joined the Jedi Order after earning his _beskar’gam._ Therefore, he would have worn it during his ‘Gathering.’”

“Forgive me, but the former fact is not quite enough to imply the latter,” Yarael said, ever the stubborn holdout.

“Another understandable lack of information,” the armorer said, sounding amused. “In that time of our history, no _Mando’ad_ who had earned their _beskar’gam_ removed it before anyone but immediate family. Tarre Vizsla’s ‘Gathering’ took place on a moon called Jedha, at the Temple there, in their own crystal caves. If he was in a Temple, there would have been others there. If there were others there, he would not have removed his _beskar’gam._ ”

“I see,” Yarael said thoughtfully.

“It is not quite the same situation, of course,” Adi said, “but you are quite right in the fact that it is the only precedent we have for these matters. Between that evidence and the suggestion that the _beskar’gam_ has actually _strengthened_ Initiate Kenobi’s connection to the Force, I, for one, believe that we should not require him to remove it for the Gathering.”

Discontent and agitation flowed from both Ki-Adi and Yarael at that. She knew that they wanted to insist again that the information would have to be verified before they would concede, but weren’t willing to say so in front of the armorer, the risk of offending her too great. And that was precisely why Adi had said it in front of the woman, Shaak knew. She smiled.

“If I may?” Mace spoke up for the first time, and everyone looked to him. “I’ve spoken to _Mand’alor_ Mereel about sending a team to him. Their primary purpose is to negotiate another information exchange. We may be able to request that some interaction with the holocron is allowed. And their secondary purpose is to bring Plo and Depa back to Coruscant. Perhaps discussion should be tabled, until their return.”

“Master Koon is one of our members,” Ki-Adi acknowledged a bit ruefully. “I agree.” Shaak joined the others in radiating her own agreement, and he nodded.

“Thank you for speaking with us,” Shaak said, smiling at the armorer again. The woman bowed her head.

“ _N’entye._ I know that it is Obi-Wan’s hope, as it is the _Mand’alor’s,_ that through him, our peoples may come to know each other,” she said. “We _goran’e_ are more than mere armorers and forgemasters. We are the guardians of our traditions and knowledge. If ever you have questions, you are welcome to ask. I will tell you what I can.”

“That is quite an honor,” Adi said, genuinely. “Thank you.”

“ _N’entye,_ ” the armorer repeated. “ _Ret'urcye mhi, Jetiise._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Ben and Arla will depart from Dathomir! And the chapter after that, they'll be back on Mandalore... With our Jedi! :D
> 
> (Not gonna lie, that scene I'm super excited to get to isn't for another... probably four or five chapters, LOL! But we'll get there. Eventually.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos, your comments make me smile so much! :D
> 
> Ariana Deralte, you're totally right! I will definitely get further into the armor and the traditions surrounding it, since Mandalorian armor is like the Biggest Deal in their culture, LOL. The armorer said a little bit about it, but Obi-Wan definitely didn't do things the "proper way." In my Mando headcanon, they start getting their armor pieces at 7, and get one piece at a time until they get used to that one, then get the next, until the full set of durasteel is completed at 10. I'm using that timeline because that gives them 3 years (from 10 to 13) to refine their fighting styles before they get their actual beskar'gam, and also because they're technically adults at 13, which means they can see actual battle. So Mandos definitely want their 13-year-old "adults" to have full armor that they're used to (including used to the weight of it). As for the actual numbers, I just threw some out there that would highlight what Obi-Wan was actually having to do with the Force to be able to wear the full set all at once, without an adjustment period to each piece. :)

The Night Sisters were… creepy.  _ Dathomir  _ was creepy. But beyond that, Arla couldn’t complain about their hospitality. They had shown her to what seemed to be some sort of communal living area, with bright red, woven rugs covering the stone floor, crackling fires ringing the edges to combat the chill of the planet, and piles of cushions. It had been a bit awkward, at first, sitting with the Night Sisters. None of them were pointing their weapons at her, and most didn’t even have them nearby, clearly trying to show her that they were not a threat. That had been the sum total of  _ their  _ efforts, though, and they had simply sat there for a long while, staring at her as she studied each of them in turn.

“How long do you think they’ll be?” she finally asked.

“There is no way to know,” one of the Sisters said. “The shortest ritual can be over within minutes. The longest can last for months.”

“ _ Months? _ ” Arla repeated, aghast at that. The Night Sister hummed.

“Those are very rare,” another added. “Most last for several hours.”

Arla calmed slightly, reminding herself that Ben had asked for her specifically, which meant he thought she could handle herself, and she trusted him to know what he was doing. Ben would have warned her, if this was going to take such a long time. But, still, it would be nice to have something to occupy herself; normally, she would clean her blaster, or her  _ beskar’gam  _ during such a wait, though she wasn’t willing to disassemble her blaster or remove her  _ beskar’gam  _ now.

Slowly, Arla reached into her belt, telegraphing her movements as the Night Sisters tensed. She drew out the deck of cards she and Ben had used to fill the time they’d spent traveling to Dathomir.

“How about a game of sabacc?”

* * *

Plo woke slowly, the Force almost lazily guiding him out of his Trance. There was no warning of danger, and he could sense Depa nearby, though he could tell that they were not in the Temple. There were two other presences in the room as well, though neither was familiar to him, and neither seemed bright enough to be Force-sensitive.

He blinked his eyes open, pleasantly surprised to find himself in an air chamber, pressurised and filled with gases to mimic the atmosphere of Dorin. It made the world look a bit strange, since his eyes could not quite adjust to see far beyond the chamber, but he breathed in deeply, grateful for the consideration.

Depa leaned over the air chamber, smiling at him, and Plo reached out in the Force to greet her. Another face came close, then, an unfamiliar Pantoran.

“ _ Su cuy’gar, Jetii, _ ” the man said, and Plo blinked. Mando’a? “I am  _ Baar’ur  _ Unixe, he/him/his. How are you feeling?”

“Rather puzzled,” Plo said, and Depa chuckled. “But overall well.”  _ Baar’ur _ —that meant healer, if Plo’s memory served. He did not speak much Mando’a, but he was attempting to learn, after that intriguing trip to Little Keldabe. Unixe nodded and pulled away slightly, and Plo thought he saw a scanner. He reached out with the Force again to aid his sight; yes, that was a medical scanner.

After a long moment, Unixe’s face reappeared. “Alright, you’re clear to leave the tank now. There’s a new breather and lenses on your right.” Plo hummed and turned to his right; sure enough, there was a set of lenses, and a new mask. He attached the mask first, knowing that his eyesight would be useless again with the lenses on until he was out of the tank and in the oxygen and nitrogen rich air humans required. The breather fit well; he guessed they had taken his measurements while he had been in the Trance. How kind of them. He affixed the lenses next, and once he was finished, he nodded.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Plo heard the hiss of the air release, sucking out the gases and replacing them with the same oxygen-mix as the rest of the room. When that was finished, there was a louder hiss, and Plo sat up as the tank separated. Depa was just beside him, almost hovering, and he wondered just how long he had been under. Judging by the quiet relief she was radiating into the Force, it had most likely been longer than expected.

He turned his attention back to Unixe and bowed his head. “ _ Vor’e, Baar’ur  _ Unixe.” The man wore teal tunics with vambraces over them; interesting. Perhaps he was something like a Healer-Knight, then?

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Unixe returned immediately. “ _ Gar kar'tayli  _ Mando’a?”

“ _ Ni cuyi hibir, _ ” Plo returned wryly, and Unixe hummed, smiling. Plo, satisfied that he had made a good first impression on the healer, looked to the room’s final occupant. His mandibles twitched slightly in recognition, and he bowed his head. “ _ Mand’alor. _ ”

“ _ Su cuy’gar, Jetii’ba’ji  _ Koon,” Mereel returned. He dipped his head slightly, and Plo smiled beneath his mask. Mereel looked to Unixe. “ _ Tion’cuyi kaysh jahaala? _ ”

“ _ Elek, ‘Alor, _ ” Unixe answered, and Mereel nodded. Unixe nodded to Plo and Depa again, and then left the room. Mereel squeezed his shoulder briefly as he left, and then the three were left in a slightly awkward silence.

“We’re in Keldbe,” Depa said, breaking the silence. “The ship fell out of hyperspace before we could reach Bandomeer; one of the Mandalorian patrols found us, and brought us here.”

“I see,” Plo said, and nodded again to Mereel. “ _ Vor entye. _ ”

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Mereel said. “You’ve been out for eleven days total. I’ve already spoken to Windu; he’s sending a team to discuss an information-sharing initiative. When they’re finished, they’ll take you back to Coruscanta.”

Plo nodded slowly. “That is good news on all fronts,” he said. Mereel nodded.

“The other  _ Jetiise  _ will be here in four days,” he said. “In the meantime, now that you’re awake, one of my  _ alor'ad’e,  _ Van Priest, has offered to host you. He’s also a Kel Dor.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Plo said, stifling the urge to thank him again. He did not know whether Initiate Kenobi’s discomfort with being thanked was just bashfulness, or a cultural trait, but he had sensed deep exasperation in Mereel when he had thanked him earlier, similar to the uncomfortable feeling little Obi-Wan got. Best not to make him uncomfortable by repeating it.

Mereel hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “You’re one of the  _ Jetiise  _ who went to Little Keldabe?”

“I am,” Plo confirmed. “It was an enlightening experience.”

Mereel’s lips twitched in an almost-smile at that, and he nodded. “Jango’s in Sundari today, but he’ll be back tomorrow. I’m sure he’d like to say hello.”

Plo’s smile widened. Though Jango Fett had worn a rather convincing stoic, disinterested expression unless he was speaking to the younglings, or another Mandalorian, Plo had been able to sense his deep curiosity about them. His sister Arla had been far less reserved, and Jango had let her take the lead in conversation with both Plo and Master Yoda, but he had listened attentively, though he had tried not to appear to.

“I would welcome the chance to see him again,” Plo said honestly. Mereel eyed him for a moment and then nodded.

“I’ll send someone in with clothes for you,” he said, and Depa brightened, a bit of excitement flaring from her in the Force.

“I don’t suppose Satine and Lunril are available?” she asked, and Mereel finally cracked a smile at that, broad and easy.

“I’m sure I can find them for you.”

* * *

Ben stared down at the pendant in his hand. It glowed slightly green, and almost… buzzed, in the Force, when he poked at it. He frowned.

“Forgive my ignorance, Mother, but I don’t understand,” he said. “What is this?”

“I have imbued this talisman with the magick of our Clan,” Mother Talzin said. “When you are close to a child of Dathomir, it will guide you to them.”

Ben nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you.” After a moment’s consideration, he slipped it over his head, then under the neck of his  _ kute. _

The Mother studied him for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. “I cannot tell you where Maul is, for I do not know. As you saw, he is too distant, and the Sith’s shielding too great, for me to reach him.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “How long ago was he taken?”

“Fourteen moons ago.” Just over a year ago, then. He was just a child, and he had only been with them a year. If Ben got to him quickly enough… Perhaps he could be brought back to the Light. “Asajj is on a planet called Rattatak. She was sacrificed, for the safety of her Sisters. I chose her to give up because I sensed for her a great destiny, though only if she left Dathomir.”

Ben smiled wanly. “She did accomplish great feats, last time. I only hope her life, and fate, will be kinder now.”

“You wish to make her a Jedi,” the Mother said flatly, and Ben raised an eyebrow.

“She  _ was  _ a Padawan,” he pointed out. “At some point, she was apprenticed to Ky Narec, who had found himself stranded on Rattatak. When he died, she was left alone, and she Fell. It made her easy prey for the Sith. But whether or not she becomes a Jedi will be up to her, her Master, and the Force.”

Mother Talzin hummed thoughtfully at that. “She will come home again,” the Mother declared. “Whether she will stay, I do not know. Her future is… clouded to my Sight. But she  _ will  _ return home, to Dathomir.” Ben nodded, knowing better than to argue with the Mother. She tilted her head, looking at him curiously. “When you appeared here in your past, what became of the other?”

Ben felt a sudden chill come over him, and he met her gaze, a warning in his eyes. “If we are to be friends, Mother Talzin, that is a thread that I suggest you not pull.”

She simply hummed again. “Curious. There  _ is  _ another; this I know already. I felt you on  _ Manda’yaim,  _ and when I reached you, I sensed you again; but also another. Distant, like an echo.”

Ben glared at her outright. “Mother Talzin. I must insist that you abandon that line of thought. He is a child yet, and you know what we  _ Mando’ade  _ would do for our  _ ade. _ ”

The Mother tipped her head. “Of course.” She sounded more amused than anything, and Ben made a mental note to remind Obi-Wan to continue working on his shielding techniques. He wouldn’t put it past the Night Mother to try to reach out to him simply because she was  _ curious,  _ nevermind the other, more sinister, possibilities.

Still, Ben took the apparent concession, if only for now, and relaxed. “Thank you for your help, Mother Talzin.”

“ _ N’entye,  _ as you say,” she said, and then rose. “Come. The  _ Ad be’Alor  _ is waiting for you.”

* * *

“Arl’ika,  _ what  _ are you doing?” Arla whirled around, smiling brightly at Ben, whose expression was pinched. He was pale, too. He looked pointedly at the bow in her hands, and she shrugged sheepishly.

“I taught them how to play sabacc,” Arla said slowly. “And they wanted to keep the deck. I tried to just give it to them, but apparently, ‘balance’ is important to them.”

“So they gave you one of their bows?” Ben asked, amusement creeping into his voice, though his expression hadn’t changed. Arla laughed.

“Well, then we entered the bartering phase,” she admitted. “The sabacc deck and one of my  _ beskar  _ knives for this bow and this—” She gestured to the shawl draped over her  _ beskar’gam,  _ a deep, blood red with silver threads. Ben smiled and shook his head.

“And here I was worried that you would be bored, waiting on me,” he said. Arla shrugged.

“ _ Ni cuyi Mando’ad.  _ I see a weapon, I like it, I want it,” she said, and Ben barked a laugh. “Besides, it’ll be good for hunting on Concord Dawn.” No matter how busy they all were,  _ buir  _ still made sure to take them back to Concord Dawn every year for a few weeks for “family time,” mostly consisting of hunting, training, and, now that both Jango and Arla were old enough, drinking.

Ben nodded. “Have you slept at all?” He frowned, and then shook his head. “Better question—how long was I gone?”

Arla raised an eyebrow at that and filed the question away. That was definitely the kind of thing  _ buir  _ had asked her to watch out for, and warn him about when they got back. Losing time wasn’t a very good sign, especially when it came to Ben. “About six hours.”

“I see,” Ben said. “Well, my business here is concluded. Are you ready to head back home, or would you like to make another exchange first?”

Arla snorted. “ _ Nayc.  _ Just let me say goodbye to Olzohm. I think she’d be pissed if I snuck out without finding her first, and I don’t really want a Night Sister angry with me.”

Ben barked a laugh at that, the smile on his face making him look a bit less dreadful. “Good call. I’ll wait for you at the steps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Gar kar'tayli Mando'a? - You know Mando'a?  
> Ni cuyi hibir - I am a student  
> Tion'cuyi kaysh jahaala? - Is he healthy?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is getting entirely out of hand! I intended for this to be fluffy Mando!bby!Obi-Wan scenes, and then it grew a plot, and now I'm like five or six more chapters away from the next scene I really want to get to. What is happening??? Someone save me from my own plot bunnies! LOL
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this ride! :D

Plo was being watched. Not that he was surprised by that; he was on Mandalore, after all, in the stronghold of the _Mand’alor._ The Order and Mandalore might be repairing their relationship, but he would not blame them for keeping a close eye on him when he was in their space.

But, though he could not see who was watching him, he could sense them, and it was obviously a child. No… _two_ children. He smiled beneath his mask.

“I cannot see you,” he called out, “but I can sense your presences. Is there something I might be able to help you with? Or, perhaps, something you wished to ask me?”

For a long moment, nothing happened, but Plo remained patient and still, kneeling in the stronghold’s garden. This particular spot—just off the path, a few feet away from a stone bench, surrounded by flowering bushes and winding trees—felt rather… steeped in the Force, as though some great event had happened here, or someone Force-sensitive meditated in this spot frequently. Given what suspicions Depa had shared with him about Ben Kenobi, Plo was inclined to believe the latter.

Finally, two small forms dropped from a nearby tree, and he smiled a bit wider, studying them as they straightened from the crouches they had landed in. Both looked human, or near-human, one with short red hair, pale skin, and bright eyes, and the other with darker coloring.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” he greeted them.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” they answered almost reflexively, but neither made any move to come closer.

“What may I do for you?” he asked, and the dark-haired child looked to the paler one, who glanced back, and then nodded before facing Plo again.

“I had a question,” the pale child said, and Plo nodded. “Can other _Mando’ade_ become a _Jetii?_ Or was Obi-Wan different, because of his _buir?_ ”

Plo tilted his head slightly; he would have to answer this question carefully. “We did not accept Obi-Wan because his _buir_ is also Force-sensitive, if that is what you mean.”

The children shared a look again, and then the one who had asked the question started towards him, the other just behind her, and to one side. They stopped several feet away, and Plo smiled again at the look of wary confusion on the child’s faces, both of them scrunching their noses slightly.

“But his _buir_ **_was_ ** a _Jetii,_ ” the redhead said, and Plo hummed. “So did you accept Obi-Wan because his _buir_ was one of you? Or could any _Mando’ade_ with the _ka’ra_ be a _Jetii?_ ”

Plo considered how to respond to that for a moment before deciding that honesty would likely get him furthest here. “Considering that we were not aware when we accepted Obi-Wan that his _buir_ had been a Jedi, I would say that he was not an exception.”

“Wait, how did you not know?” the child asked, frowning at him. Another tricky question to answer.

“He wore full _beskar’gam_ when we saw him,” Plo said carefully. “He was not carrying a lightsaber, and _beskar_ muffles the Force. We had no idea who he was.” And they still didn’t, but that was hardly a problem with which to burden these younglings.

“Oh. So… Anyone could be a _Jetii?_ If they have the _ka’ra?_ ”

“Theoretically, yes.”

The children shared yet another _look,_ and then the dark-haired child asked, “What does that mean?”

Plo hummed. “The Jedi Order does accept any youngling who has enough of the Force within them. But there have been… few Mandalorian Jedi.”

“But… could that change?” the redhead asked. Plo tilted his head.

“I sense that this is not an idle question,” he said slowly. “Are you asking for someone in particular?” It was not, he thought, for either of them. Unless they had exceptionally good, prodigy-level shields, or someone else was shielding them, neither was Force-sensitive.

“Maybe.” The child’s cheeks colored, and Plo nodded.

“If the youngling is Force-sensitive, there are still several requirements that must be met,” Plo said, and then he cut himself off with a light tittering sound. “Forgive me, I have been terribly rude.” He bowed his head. “I am Plo Koon, he/him/his.”

“I’m Bo-Katan, Clan and House Kryze. She/her/hers.”

“Ursa, Clan Wren, House Vizsla,” the other said. “She/her/hers too.”

Plo nodded to them. “Well met. Would you care to sit down?” They nodded slowly and sat, cross-legged, and stared at him. Plo smiled again. “To answer your question, Lady Kryze—”

“Just Bo-Katan,” she corrected him, frowning. “‘Lady Kryze’ is my _ori’vod._ ”

“Of course, Bo-Katan. To answer your question: if a Mandalorian child wished to become a Jedi, we would first need their guardian’s permission to test them.”

“What kind of test?” Ursa asked.

“That would depend on the age of the child. For the very young, it usually only includes a blood sample to take a midichlorian count, and the _Ba’ji_ sent to them would see how their presence feels in the Force,” Plo answered. “For those who are a bit older, we have several games that we use that require the Force.”

“Games?” Bo-Katan repeated, and Plo nodded. He looked around and saw a small rock nearby, and called it to himself with the Force.

“One is a game called push-pull, though we begin with feathers, at first,” Plo explained, holding his hands out, palms facing each other, and floating the rock back and forth between them. The girls’ eyes widened a bit, and Plo smiled again before setting the rock down. “There is also a guessing game, though it isn’t truly guessing when one is guided by the Force.”

“What’s that other thing you said? The blood test,” Bo-Katan asked.

“To test midichlorian counts,” Plo said. “Midichlorians are microscopic lifeforms that live inside all beings. They allow us to touch the Force. The more midichlorians one has, the stronger their Force connection will be.”

“Huh,” Bo-Katan said. “I think I’ve heard my _buir_ say something about that before. Trying to make people test _ikaad’e_ for them.”

Plo hummed and nodded. “That would make sense. Even if Force-sensitive children do not go on to become Jedi, we like to identify them early. Most require some form of training to control their abilities.” Bo-Katan flinched slightly, and Plo tilted his head. “Has something happened?”

Bo-Katan frowned at him, and then shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. _Ni n’e._ ”

Plo hummed and nodded again. “I understand, but I would also like you to know that even if a child’s guardian does not wish for their child to become a Jedi, if they need help, we will provide it. We have programs on other worlds through our Education Corps that allow us to visit the children in their homes to teach them enough control so that they will not be in danger of harming themselves or others.”

“They wouldn’t even have to be _Jetiise,_ and you’d teach them anyway?” Ursa asked slowly, and Plo nodded.

“To control their connection to the Force, yes,” Plo said. “Though we would not provide them lightsaber training.” The girls nodded as if that made perfect sense, and Plo spared a moment to be thankful that Mandalore was a warrior culture. On most worlds, when similar questions came up, children tended to pout very seriously at that, all wishing for a lightsaber of their own. But these two likely had a healthier respect for weapons than most other children he would ever meet.

“That’s good to know,” Bo-Katan said, nodding. “ _Vor’e._ ”

“ _N’entye,_ ” Plo said. “I have a question as well, if you wouldn’t mind.” Bo-Katan shrugged, and Plo smiled again. “Is it common knowledge that Ben Kenobi was once a Jedi?”

“Sort of?” Bo-Katan said. “It was before his _cin vhetin,_ so it doesn’t really matter. But he doesn’t hide that he has the _ka’ra,_ either. We all just… know, but we don’t really talk about it.”

“What is _‘cin vhetin?’_ A… white field?” Plo asked, translating slowly. He recalled that Depa had said something about that, though her explanation of Ben Kenobi’s words had been limited by her lack of understanding, and the concussion she had still been healing from, at the time.

“Yeah, I guess, but it’s… more than that,” Bo-Katan said. “When you swear to the _Resol’nare_ and get your _beskar’gam,_ your past doesn’t matter. You’re _Mando’ad_ now.”

“I see,” Plo said slowly. “Does Sir Kenobi often use the Force around others?”

“I don’t know,” Bo-Katan said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times at fancy dinners with the _Mand’alor._ He’s _always_ with the _Mand’alor._ ”

Interesting. “ _Vor’e._ One more question, if you don’t mind,” he said, and the girls both nodded. “I noticed that you are both wearing vambraces, but no other armor. May I ask why that is?”

“‘Cause we’re seven?” Ursa answered, obviously confused. “We only get vambraces.”

Plo tilted his head slightly. “I did not realize the _beskar’gam_ did not come as a full set.”

“‘Course it doesn’t,” Bo-Katan said, giving him a look that said she thought he might be a bit stupid, and Plo couldn’t help but smile again. “We wouldn’t be able to walk. It’s too heavy.”

“Oh,” Plo sighed. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Bo-Katan asked, frowning at him.

“Obi-Wan’s armor,” Plo said immediately. “He received the full set at once a few months ago.”

“Ouch,” Bo-Katan said, wincing a bit. “Bet that hurt.”

“Indeed,” Plo agreed a touch ruefully. “Do either of you have any more questions for me?”

Ursa and Bo-Katan turned to each other once more, and then looked back at him in unison. Ursa spoke first: “How many planets have you been to?”

Plo grinned widely at that; they may have been from an unfamiliar warrior culture, but children all across the galaxy were, in many ways, the same.

“Two hundred and thirteen, now that I may include _Manda’yaim_ in that count,” Plo said, and they gaped at him. He chuckled. “I am older than I look, and have served the Order for many years already. Perhaps I could tell you about some of my favorites?”

They nodded eagerly, and Plo relaxed, settling in for story time.

* * *

Arla and Ben were both back in once piece, thank the _ka’ra._ Arla looked cheerful, coming down the ramp, some sort of shawl or scarf draped over her neck, and she was carrying an unfamiliar bow. Ben, just behind her, looked worn. He was too pale, and had that pinched sort of look that told Jaster he probably hurt somewhere, but wasn’t about to admit it.

“ _Su’cuy, buir, vod’ika!_ ” Arla said, bumping pauldrons with Jango and giving Jaster a one-armed hug. He hugged her back and looked at the bow, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. “Traded a knife for it. Personally, I think I got the better deal.”

Jaster snorted, his lips twitching in a smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, _ad’ika._ ” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Ben?”

Arla shrugged. Just as softly, she answered, “Hard to say. I was with the Night Sisters while he met with the Mother, and I don’t know what they did. Some sort of ritual, I guess, but Ben wouldn’t tell me anything about it. He didn’t know how long it had been when he came out, though.”

Jaster nodded slowly. That could be a bad sign, or it could be normal, but they wouldn’t have any idea unless Ben actually told them what the “ritual” consisted of. He set that aside for now, deciding it would be best to bully him into eating and then sleeping, first. Tomorrow morning, he would break the news about the other _Jetiise_ who would be arriving soon.

He let Arla go, and she nodded back at him before turning to Jango, steering him off towards the stronghold. Ben finished sealing up the ship and turned to Jaster.

“ _Su’cuy, vod,_ ” Jaster greeted him, and Ben’s lips twitched in a smile.

“ _Su’cuy._ ”

“How’d it go?” he asked. “Did you get what you were looking for?”

“In part,” Ben sighed. “I have enough to work with, for now.” Jaster nodded.

“ _Jate._ Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

Ben shook his head. “ _Nayc, vor’e._ I need to meditate.”

Jaster narrowed his eyes at him. “Food first, then sleep. You can meditate tomorrow morning.” _And if you still look this bad after that, you’ll be talking to Venn,_ Jaster didn’t say, but from the way Ben frowned, Jaster thought he knew that anyway. Jaster ticked an eyebrow, wondering if Ben was going to force him to make this an order, and finally, Ben sighed.

“If you insist.”

“I do.” Ben shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth again, so Jaster relaxed slightly. He slung an arm around Ben’s shoulders, just to make sure he couldn’t slip away, and began herding him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you may have noticed that I tried to make Plo steer away from thinking of Ursa and Bo-Katan as girls until they introduced themselves and specified gender. I got a comment on a previous chapter relating to how I'm choosing to treat gender and pronouns in this fic, and I wanted to address it, although I did delete the comment itself because it was unnecessarily rude and inflammatory, especially for something that is already a very emotionally-charged subject to talk about for a lot of people.
> 
> Let's just pretend for a second that every single sentient in the Star Wars universe is CIS. (Not going to happen, but for the sake of argument, just bear with me, okay?) You still can't assume their gender, because you can't even assume their *species.* They may look human, but what if they're a hybrid? What if they're near-human, and from a species with more than two genders, or only one gender? You can't assume that they are what they look like from such a limited human perspective when you're working with a universe that has alien species, and so *many* alien species. Assuming that they are binary-gendered and assuming what gender they are based on appearances would be the height of ignorance even if everyone in the SW galaxy was CIS (which there's just no way they would be). I feel like treating the issue that way is just an extension of trying to break the cultural norm of assuming someone's gender in our real world. Just don't. Don't make assumptions, use the pronouns someone offers you, and make offering your own when you introduce yourself the new normal.
> 
> /rant over! Most of you have been amazingly lovely, respectful, kind commenters, and I thank you so so so much for that! But topics like this are very close to my heart. I'll never claim to do a perfect job of representation, and I'm sure there are a lot of things I could do better, but if you want to come at me for having Bant say "it's bad to assume he's a boy" in a universe where you can't even assume he's from a species that has what we would consider boys, then you'll definitely get a response from me. ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your incredibly sweet reactions to last chapter's rant. :) It has come to my attention that my spellchecker is automatically changing cis to CIS, because, no joke, CIS stands for the Confederacy of Independent Systems (the Separatists). XD It's too hilarious not to leave it as is, but, yeah. I thought that was funny. XD You all knew what I meant! LOL
> 
> I swear that I WANT to move the plot forward, but then my characters, somehow especially Jango, are like, no, I want 1000+ words of mostly introspection. *Eyeroll*

Jango _was_ happy to be back in Keldabe. Sundari (too bright, too clean, too uniform, too overwhelmingly and damningly _human_ ) just didn’t agree with him. But he would be happier when Ben’s hands stopped shaking, and color came back to his too-pale cheeks. And he would be _much_ happier, perhaps even approaching _content,_ when the _Jetiise_ left.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. Koon was… fine. During their trip to Little Keldabe for Ob’ika’s _beskar’gam,_ Koon had been politely curious, and obligingly answered all of Arla’s questions. And Koon clearly liked Obi-Wan, who liked him in return, and that was all… good.

But Jango didn’t like what having the _Jetiise_ around did to Ben—and, by extension, to his _buir._ Jaster tended to… fret, some, when it came to Ben. They were _akaan’vod’e,_ Jango knew. Battle-bonded. The battle that had killed Jango and Arla’s first _buir’e,_ the battle that had culminated in Ben offering his _Jetii’kad,_ the reflection of his soul as much as his _buy’ce_ was, to Jaster, to face Tor Vizsla and claim the _Dha’kad,_ had bound them all together.

To Jango, it seemed as if Ben had always been there. He knew Ben’s history, of course; Ben was surprisingly open about it, at least with the other _Haat’ade,_ though not _areutiise._ But by the time Jango and Arla had come to live with Jaster in the Keldabe stronghold, in the _alori’yaim,_ Ben just… was. He still remembered the day he’d first called Ben _ba’vodu_ —he’d taken longer than Arla had to come around, to accept the _Haat’ade_ as his new _aliit,_ but once he had… Ben had teared up, and Jango had blushed terribly, but neither of them had actually acknowledged it, for which Jango was sure he’d be eternally grateful.

Ben had been the person Jango went to when he just couldn’t talk to Arla or _buir_ about something that was bothering him. Usually, it was because he didn’t feel like talking at all, and Ben, being able to sense how he felt, never needed him to. He would sit and drink shig in silence for hours at a time, or let Jango lead him to the training grounds for a spar, or, now that he was of age, sip at _tihaar_ or _netra’gal_ while they watched others sparring in the courtyard. Sitting quietly with Ben was comforting on its own. He was just so… steady. Not calm, exactly, and not unflappable— _ka’ra_ knew he’d had enough episodes back in those first few years, between the panic attacks and flashbacks (far rarer, but also far more terrifying, for Ben and everyone around him). Jango knew Ben wasn’t always calm, he didn’t always have it quite together, but when he was just Ben, in the moment, not somewhere far-off in his own head, he was… like the eye of a storm. Jango didn’t think _he_ could ever really be _calm_ either, and he gravitated towards Ben, who seemed to feel the same way.

But Ben wasn’t steady now, and he was far from calm, although he was doing a very good job of appearing to be calm. Unfortunately for him, Jango knew him too well, and he was too observant, thanks to _buir_ and Ben’s training. He could tell that Ben was disturbed, and he was fairly certain he knew why, and it all came back to the _Jetiise._

So while Jango didn’t necessarily _want_ to keep Koon company all day, he would do it. Not only because his _buir_ had asked him to, but because if Koon was with him, Jango could keep him away from Ben.

As they’d planned, Van brought Koon to him after breakfast, finding him in the gardens. They stopped far enough away that Jango couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but Van nodded and clapped Koon’s shoulder before turning to Jango, bowing his head, and leaving. Jango turned his attention to Koon, who was approaching him deliberately, posture relaxed—well, for a _Jetii._ His hands were in the sleeves of the robes that were ubiquitous among _Jetiise,_ a ridiculously large and unwieldy brown swathe of fabric. To most _Mando’ade,_ that would be a threatening gesture—those sleeves were large, and could hide many weapons. But Ben assured them that they almost never did, and it was when a _Jetii_ reached for their ‘saber that you should worry. Though they could also just call it to their hands with the _ka’ra;_ Jango had seen Ben move things to himself with his powers several times, usually when there were _adiik’e_ around, and he needed to get something dangerous out of their reach before they could hurt themselves, and that usually delighted them so much they asked for further demonstrations. Ben never could say no to _adiik’e._

Jango shook his head to clear it and pulled off his _buy’ce,_ putting it under one arm as Koon drew closer.

“ _Su cuy’gar,_ ” Koon greeted him when he came close enough to speak, bowing his head as Van had done, though he knew better than to bow at the waist as _Jetiise_ usually did. Jango nodded back.

“ _Su’cuy, Jetii,_ ” he answered politely. Jango waved a hand at the path in invitation, and Koon nodded, falling into step with him easily as they started walking. They walked in silence for a while, and Jango didn’t need the _ka’ra_ to know that the _Jetii_ was trying to think of the best way to ask him something; that was apparent in the way Koon would glance at him, and then look back to the path before Jango could catch his eye. “What’s on your mind?”

Koon hummed. “I understand that Sir Kenobi is offworld at the moment,” he said, and Jango’s jaw clenched slightly. “I had hoped to speak to him, to offer an apology.”

“For what?” Jango asked slowly.

“I learned yesterday that _Mando’ade_ are meant to begin receiving their _beskar’gam_ in pieces at the age of seven,” Koon said. “I cannot understand how it did not occur to any of us that Initiate Kenobi might struggle with adjusting to the weight of it, receiving the full set at once. When we return to the Temple, I will, of course, apologize to Initiate Kenobi directly, but I had hoped to relay the same to his _buir._ ”

“I see,” Jango said slowly, not quite sure what to think of that. Back to the safest topic, then. “How is Ob’ika?”

“He is doing very well,” Koon said, sounding pleased. “Yan Dooku, a rather renowned Makashi-user, taught a class this past term. He is notoriously difficult to impress, but Initiate Kenobi seems to have managed it.”

“Makashi?” Jango repeated, and Koon hummed.

“A lightsaber form,” Koon explained, and Jango hummed in understanding. “Bear Clan is preparing to undergo the Gathering soon; the finding of their lightsaber crystals. I will admit to a certain amount of… anticipation in the Temple surrounding Initiate Kenobi’s future lightsaber.”

That startled a laugh out of Jango. “Because the last time a _Jetii’Manda_ built one, it was the _Dha’kad?_ ”

“Precisely.”

Jango shook his head. “I don’t know what we’ll do if there’s two of them in the galaxy.” Koon chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and Jango couldn’t help but smile a bit. They rounded the corner to the little clearing where Ben liked to meditate, and Koon’s steps slowed as he stared at the exact spot Ben always knelt. A chill ran down Jango’s spine, and he stiffened, stopping entirely.

“Sir Kenobi meditates here often, does he not?” Koon asked, tilting his head slightly. Jango frowned, but didn’t answer. “I could sense an impression of it; he must do so frequently, for it to leave such an imprint.” Jango just shrugged, not sure what the safest way to answer that was, trying to think of some way to get them off the topic of Ben— Koon turned to him, then, and met his eyes. “We have many questions about Ben Kenobi. I apologize for the discomfort that brings you, but I assure you that we mean him no harm. We only seek to understand him.”

Jango’s brow furrowed at that, and he shook his head. “I think it’s best for Ben if you keep your distance, _Jetii,_ ” he said flatly. “He—”

“ _Jetii!_ You came back!” Jango turned to look behind him, catching sight of Bo-Katan Kryze and Ursa Wren running up the path towards them. Koon immediately sank to one knee to greet them, and the two _adiik’e_ began babbling at him, talking over each other, Koon patiently interjecting to respond alternately to both.

Jango smirked, realizing that he had just figured out how to keep the _Jetiise_ away from Ben for the duration of their stay.

* * *

The instant Ben woke, his heart rate spiked, realizing immediately that he wasn’t in his own bed. His eyes flew open, and he instinctively reached out with the Force to search for enemies, or clues to where he might be, and sensed—

Oh. Ben sat up slowly, looking around and flushing slightly in embarrassment despite being alone as he recognized the semi-familiar guest room Jaster always saved for him in the _alori’yaim._ He called it Ben’s room, which he never knew how to react to. It was in the same hall, after all, as Jaster’s own room, and Jango’s, and Arla’s. The hall reserved for the _Mand’alor_ and his _aliit._ He was touched by the gesture, certainly, but had always been uncomfortable with that sort of recognition.

It was already mid-morning, and Ben frowned. He barely remembered dinner the night before; either the Night Mother’s ritual had tired him more than he’d realized, or he had had entirely too much to drink at dinner. He doubted the latter, and wondered if he should see a proper _baar’ur_ to ensure there were no lasting adverse effects from the “Waters of Life” he’d imbibed. Setting that aside to contemplate later, _after_ he’d had his tea, he rose and neatly made the bed. No longer bleary-eyed after his aborted panic, but still not quite awake, he strapped on most of his _beskar’gam,_ save for his _buy’ce,_ and went out to face Jaster.

Ben was surprised that he was still in. Jaster had taken to scheduling Council meetings a few hours before lunch, which usually served to wrap up discussion as the promise of food coaxed them away from their bickering; when he had scheduled them after dinner, the sessions would sometimes last all night. So Jaster should have been on the other side of the _alori’yaim_ by then, in the diplomatic wing where the meetings were held; instead, he was in the kitchen, sitting at the table and frowning at a datapad, nursing a cup of what smelled like shig.

“ _Jate vaar'tur,_ ” Jaster greeted him, looking up. The frown eased somewhat as he studied him, and Ben grunted in reply. He desperately needed tea before he could interact with another sentient being. Ben already knew where Jaster had tea, kept there specifically for him, since no one else could stand the sapir, and put the kettle on, glaring at it as if that would speed the process.

Finally, his tea was ready, and he gulped down the first mug, poured a second, and went to sit across from Jaster, who was looking at him with a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?” Ben asked, and Jaster shook his head. Ben let out a little _hmph_ and turned his attention back to his tea. Jaster let him drink in silence for a while, looking back to his datapad. When Ben finally finished his second cup, and went to fetch a third before sitting back down, Jaster powered off the pad and fixed him with a _look._ He raised an eyebrow in return, and Jaster leaned forward, resting an arm on the table, tapping his fingers on it.

“What are you going to do with the information you got from the Night Mother?” Jaster asked, and Ben tilted his head.

“Find the two Dathomiri I’m looking for, ideally.”

Jaster huffed. “I mean _now, vod._ What are you going to do next?”

Ben hummed. “Well, I imagine I’ll go to Rattatak first. Though I will need a different ship for that, as it is on the opposite side of the galaxy, and I’m not suicidal enough to take a ship with so few weapons that far, or to _that_ particular planet.” He tilted his head, the Force whispering to him. “Though perhaps I might stop at Takodana, on the way. There is someone there who may be able to help me.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “What kind of timeline are we looking at?”

“Oh, I likely won’t leave for several months, at least,” Ben answered, shrugging. “I’ll need time to prepare.”

Jaster sighed again and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “While I’m glad you’re sticking around for a while, I… have some news.”

“Oh?” Ben asked lightly, swirling his tea around before drinking the last of it.

“We have two more _Jetiise_ arriving,” Jaster said flatly. “In three days.”

“To retrieve the other two?” Ben asked slowly.

“ _‘Lek,_ but they’re also coming to negotiate some sort of information-sharing initiative,” Jaster said. “Windu suggested it, more than likely because I told Billaba I was prepared to work with them on this pirate issue.”

Ben opened his mouth and then shut it, frowning. Something was tugging at his memory, something about those pirates… Though what, he couldn’t say. He shook his head and filed that away as something to meditate on later. “Who are they sending?”

“A _Ba’ji_ called Tholme, and his _Jetii’ad,_ Vos. Vos is a friend of Ob’ika’s, according to Windu.”

Ben forced himself to breathe, shoving the emotions and memories into a box to deal with _later._ “I see.”

“Did you know them?” Jaster asked, his tone just a _bit_ too pointed, and Ben silently cursed the fact that Jaster knew him so well by now.

“I know _of_ them,” Ben said. “Tholme is a Shadow. They specialize in information-gathering, sensitive investigations, and they are also in charge of seeking out and containing or destroying artefacts of the Sith.”

Jaster hummed. “An appropriate team to send, then. I’m pleased they didn’t just send a diplomat.”

Ben grinned. “As a matter of fact, I believe you will get along famously with Tholme. Quinlan Vos, on the other hand…” Jaster’s eyes narrowed, and Ben shrugged. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Dha'kad - Darksaber  
> akaan'vod'e - battle brothers/battle-bonded (literally war brothers, technically a phrase I made up)  
> aruetiise - outsiders  
> alori'yaim - another one I technically made up. Aloriya means capital, and yaim means home, so I shoved those two together to mean the official home of the Mand'alor in the capital


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several thousand more words of mostly introspection, with a little bit of setup for our next plot points? Sure, plot bunnies, whatever you say... LOL

_Ba’ji_ Windu was staring at him again. Obi-Wan didn’t need to turn and look to know that was true, not when he could feel the intensity of his gaze in the Force, boring a hole into the back of his head. Obi-Wan shifted slightly on the bench again, pushing his dinner around on his plate more than eating it.

“Are you gonna finish that?” Reeft asked, perhaps a bit hopeful. Obi-Wan huffed and shook his head, sliding his tray towards Reeft, only grabbing his tea back to finish.

“You might want to cut back on the tea, Obi-Wan,” Bant said. “Master Che said that caffeine addiction isn’t very fun to deal with, even for a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It’s too late for me, Bant. You know what I’m like without tea already.”

“He does have a point,” Garen said, leaning over Reeft to look at Bant. “He might be awake, but until there’s tea, there’s nobody in there.” He tapped his own forehead, and Bant frowned.

“You should _definitely_ cut back on the tea,” Bant revised her statement, and Obi-Wan snorted.

“ _Tion’ke'gyce, Baar’ur_ Eerin?” Obi-Wan asked, raising one eyebrow and trying very hard not to smile. Bant flushed, but lifted her chin defiantly.

“ _Elek._ ”

The clearing of a throat behind them made Obi-Wan and Bant turn around, and Obi-Wan frowned before forcing the expression away. He bowed his head. “ _Ba’ji_ Windu.” His greeting was echoed by the others, though they all said “Master Windu” instead.

“Initiates,” he greeted them, nodding. “Initiate Kenobi, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

Obi-Wan nodded, unsurprised by that, not that he knew what this could be about, and rose. He went to grab his _buy’ce,_ then paused and drained the rest of his tea, shrugging at Bant when she narrowed her eyes at him. Nodding to his friends, he put his _buy’ce_ on and followed _Ba’ji_ Windu.

They walked through the halls, _Ba’ji_ Windu definitely leading them somewhere specific, and Obi-Wan’s steps slowed as he realized _where_ they were going.

“Why are we going to the Halls, _Ba’ji?_ ”

 _Ba’ji_ Windu stopped walking altogether, and Obi-Wan stopped just behind him. He eyed Obi-Wan for a long moment, frowning slightly, and then he shook his head.

“It has come to our attention that we failed to follow the proper procedure for your armor,” _Ba’ji_ Windu said. “Truthfully, I don’t know how we all missed it. We didn’t think twice about the armor’s weight, and how you should have had an adjustment period for each piece. For that, I would like to apologize to you, both for myself, and on behalf of the Council.”

Obi-Wan blinked, glad that he was wearing his _buy’ce_ so _Ba’ji_ Windu couldn’t see him blushing violently. “ _Vor’e?_ I mean, that’s… You couldn’t really have known, could you? I didn’t know, either, so I couldn’t tell you, and my _buir_ didn’t really think about it, since he got his all at one time, and it was his actual _beskar’gam_ anyway. And _ba’vodu_ Jaster probably didn’t even think about it either, because it’s just so… normal, for him. It was just… overlooked, I guess.” _Ba’ji_ Windu’s lips twitched, and Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if it was in a deeper frown, or an almost-smile.

“I appreciate your understanding, Initiate. The fact remains that we did not do this properly, and we are going to the Halls to ensure that there were no adverse effects for you.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” Obi-Wan protested. “I used the Force to make it easier.”

 _Ba’ji_ Windu nodded. “We learned that, eventually. There is no other way you could have handled the weight well enough to have performed so well in Master Dooku’s class. But still, you could be giving yourself mild Force exhaustion, which can become serious if unchecked. Even slight, but repetitive, Force-stress can cause problems long-term. These techniques also use a great deal of energy. We need to make sure you’re healthy.”

Obi-Wan frowned deeply, knowing he couldn’t argue with that. And he knew Jaster’s rule: if you needed the medics, _you went to medical._ If you were _ordered_ to the medics, _you went to medical._ If someone so much as _suggested_ they thought you might need medical attention, _you went to medical._ Though that rule was usually barked at _buir,_ who, for some reason, had always avoided _baar’ur’e_ of any sort who weren’t _ba’vodu_ Tala.

“ _‘Lek, Ba’ji,_ ” Obi-Wan said, nodding. _Ba’ji_ Windu nodded back, seeming to relax slightly, and they resumed their walk towards the Halls. 

* * *

Jaster had finally let Ben out of his sight, but not before extracting a promise that Ben would make an appointment with Tala if his meditation didn’t settle him, and Ben made a beeline for his house. He would have liked to meditate in the gardens, but Jaster had warned him Plo was there, attracting the attention of curious children from all over the _alori’yaim._ He made it miraculously unaccosted, and closed the door quickly, slumping briefly against it in relief.

It might not have been so bad, the prospect of seeing Quinlan again, if Ben hadn’t just dredged up the memory of his Fall. That was… _spectacularly_ bad timing.

He forced himself to take a shaky breath, letting it out slowly, and then another, until his breathing steadied, and his hands stopped feeling quite so cold. Nodding to himself, Ben pulled off his _buy’ce,_ setting it on the low table he kept in the hall for just this purpose, and went to his meditation mat. He stared out the window for a moment, smiling at his little garden and the two tookas lounging on the bench, sunning themselves, and then he closed his eyes, reaching for the Force.

For a long moment, Ben let himself drift on the currents, basking in the familiar warmth and peace, washing away the last of the Dark clinging to him from his visit to Dathomir. Then he turned his thoughts to the problems at hand.

Ben knew where to find Ventress. He had always known where to find Ventress, truth be told, and his trip to Dathomir had been more to confirm the fact that she and Maul had already been taken from their homeworld. But _when_ should he find her? Should he go as soon as possible? Should he wait a year, two years, longer than that? He wanted to save Ky Narec, that much was certain, and he wanted Ventress to be trained in at least the basics of the Force by someone who was _not_ a Sith, which would happen if he just… let things go on as they had. But Ben was playing a very dangerous game, as he didn’t know _when_ Master Narec was killed.

And then there was the matter of Maul. What did “Hunt” mean? Why was Maul worried about being hunted? It didn’t tell him much. The confirmation that it had been Sidious that had taken him, however, was certainly going to make things easier. Ben knew next to nothing about Sidious’s Master, and could not even say when Sidious had killed him. If it had been Plagueis who had taken Maul, Ben would struggle to know where to begin to find him.

But now… Ben reached to the Force, letting it guide his decisions. He would go to Naboo, first. A long trip, but at least he could take the Hydian most of the way down, and it would put him in a good position to make for Takodana. Why the Force wanted him to go there, he wasn’t certain, and it whispered of a _who_ rather than a _why,_ but Ben had never been there before. He had no idea who might be there. Nevertheless, Ben was not about to defy the Force when it became so insistent, and so to Takodana he would go. Finally, after Takodana, he would go to Rattatak.

His course decided, Ben felt far better than he had, more settled for having a plan of action. Sighing a bit and mentally wincing, he forced himself to acknowledge the Jedi he could feel. Their familiar presences hadn’t been something he’d had to _reach_ for when he’d begun meditating; he had simply been… aware of them, somewhat unconsciously. Plo and Depa were two of his dearest friends, once upon a time, and he would know those lights anywhere. And for all that Depa was not yet the Master she would be, the essence of her had been unchanged.

What was Ben to do about them? He knew they were asking the very questions he’d hoped to avoid, Jaster having warned him already (and _Force,_ he was so _grateful_ that Jaster never asked why none of the Jedi they met seemed to know him when _Ben_ knew _them,_ and why Obi-Wan’s Clan name never sparked recognition in the Masters, though the looks he gave Ben clearly said that Jaster knew he was keeping secrets). Ben didn’t intend to keep the Order in the dark, not forever. He didn’t want it to become _common_ knowledge, but the Council, at least, should know. And the Shadows.

The Jedi Order would fall, if nothing was done, whether the Sith were defeated before their plans came to fruition or not. The Sith had done more than position themselves for a galactic takeover, they had engineered a galaxy in which the Order as it stood could not thrive. They were dying off, their sheer numbers, sense of purpose, and efficacy diminished by their subservience to a corrupt Senate and the Ruusan Reformation restrictions that had long since served their purpose, and _even if the Sith were defeated,_ those factors alone would kill the Jedi Order. In the days before the Republic, and the first few centuries after its inception, the galaxy had _known_ the Jedi. There were Jedi everywhere, after all, serving the galaxy in whatever way the Force called them to do. The Order was an overseer for training and culture, that much was true, but it had not had the power in those days that it did now. The High Council had once answered to the members of the Order; now, they all answered to the Senate.

And therein lay the largest problem with the Order as it was, and the very problem that had driven Yan Dooku to turn his back on the Jedi. The absurd now-reality that _Yan Dooku,_ the one-time Darth Tyranus, was teaching a younger, _Mandalorian_ version of himself _Makashi_ rudely interrupted his previous train of thought, and Ben scowled. He flung the thought into the Force and turned his attention back to the Jedi.

Ben had long ago come to the conclusion that the Jedi Order would have to save itself. Killing the Sith would not save them from the slow decay they were suffering. They would have to _change,_ but they would need an impetus. A convincing one. Ben had planned to be that impetus, to tell them the whole of the truth, and let his first life serve as the lesson that would teach the Order that to _survive,_ they must _change._

But he hadn’t planned to do it _this soon,_ Force _dammit._

Ben was abruptly startled from his meditation by the chime of the door, and he frowned, not in the mood for visitors. Sighing, he released as much of his irritation as he could into the Force, fixed a pleasant smile on his face, and went to answer the door just as the chime sounded again.

The door slid open, and he blinked down at Lunril. “ _Su’cuy._ ”

“ _Su’cuy,_ Ben!” Lunril said brightly, and bounced on the balls of his feet. Ben raised an eyebrow at him.

 _“Su'cuy,_ Lun'ika. Would you like to come in?” he offered, and Lunril shook his head.

“ _Nayc, vor’e._ I just brought something for you,” Lunril said, then stuck his hand out, waving a piece of folded flimsi. “It’s from _Ba’ji_ Plo.”

Ben was startled into a chuckle at that. How typical of Plo to have already endeared himself to the younglings. “I see. _Vor’e._ ”

“ _N’entye,_ Ben!” Lunril nodded as Ben took the offered flimsi, and then the boy ran off without even saying goodbye. Ben huffed and shook his head, palming the door closed before looking at the note, unfolding it slowly and trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking ever-so-slightly.

 _Sir Kenobi_ —

_I was informed this morning that you have returned from your trip offworld. Though I had hoped to speak with you, I have also been told that it may be best that we not meet. If that is your wish, I shall certainly respect it._

_I did wish to speak to you personally regarding your son. As it is, I still wish to speak to a Mandalorian who could advise us further on your traditions, as I have come to learn that we have already misstepped with Initiate Kenobi’s cultural milestones. That is why I wished to send you this; I believe you are the most appropriate person to direct this request to, though I will happily accept any emissary you might wish to send to me in your place._

_I do hope this note finds you well. And, may I say, you have a lovely meditation spot in the gardens._

— _Plo Koon_

Ben read the note twice before folding it carefully back up and slipping it into one of the pouches on his belt. He huffed and ran a hand through his hair.

That had been the perfect peace offering. It was a flimsi note, so Ben could be assured that there was no trap hidden within the message itself, as he might have suspected if given a commlink (probably would have suspected, knowing the paranoia Tala would never quite be able to help him cure; and it didn’t help that that concern would be based in experience, because Force only knew how many times he’d been given commlinks with secret trackers or dataspikes in his last life). He had hinted at the fact that Plo realized Ben likely already knew what questions the Jedi were asking, but Plo had gone out of his way to say that he wouldn’t be tracking him down. It was respectful, and yet entirely direct when you were fluent in the cryptic way most Jedi spoke, and so very _Plo_ that it made Ben’s eyes water.

Ben knew, of course, that he would go. Plo had used Obi-Wan as the perfect bait, and it was all the better for the fact that Plo likely genuinely wanted to make sure Obi-Wan could be raised with as much of his heritage as possible. And if that got the Initiate’s mysterious father to speak to a Councilor? So much the better for them.

It was clever, and Ben could respect that. It meant he couldn’t let his guard down, and he had to be steady, which also meant that he should probably see Tala before he met with Plo (but most likely wouldn’t until after, if he saw her voluntarily at all). But Ben wasn’t too concerned, because he had one great advantage: he knew them far better than they would ever realize, and his one-time friends knew nothing about him in return.

Ben planned to use that for all it was worth. He hummed and looked to the low bench, his two _buy’cese_ side by side. Smiling to himself, he picked up the proper _beskar_ _buy’ce,_ and slipped it onto his head. Patting the lightsaber hidden—at least at a glance—on the back of his belt, slipped into the fabric of the pockets themselves, he turned to leave again.

* * *

Mace was relieved to hear Initiate Kenobi had suffered no lasting ill-effects from his extended use of the Force, though he could tell that the boy was far less pleased than he was. Most likely due to the news that the healers were putting him on a meal plan, apparently finding him “too scrawny,” in the Padawan-Healer’s less than diplomatic opinion. He had caught only a glimpse of Kenobi’s scowl before it was tucked away again under his helmet, and Mace idly wondered if he wore his full armor everywhere, except when eating or sleeping.

Initiate Kenobi didn’t question him when they detoured on their path back to the creche, but Mace could sense the little tendrils of curiosity curling from him into the Force. Mace said nothing until they were settled into a meditation room, with the door sealed to give them privacy.

“I have a few questions I hoped you might be able to answer,” Mace said slowly, waving a hand for the boy to sit. He didn’t kneel on the cushion, like many Jedi did, likely because of the armor, instead sitting cross-legged. Mace sank down to his knees on his own cushion, wondering if Kenobi would remove his helmet for this conversation. He didn’t.

“Okay? I’ll answer what I can, _Ba’ji._ ”

Mace nodded. “Thank you. Last week, Master Koon and Knight Billaba’s transport was attacked while they were on a mission, near Phindar. Their ship was found by a Mandalorian patrol, and they were taken to Keldabe on the _Mand’alor’s_ orders.”

“ _T_ _hat’s_ why Quin—ah, Padawan Vos—and his _Ba’ji_ are going to _Manda’yaim,_ ” Kenobi said, nodding. “That explains a lot.”

Mace just barely caught himself before releasing the guilt that flared at that, not wanting to risk Kenobi sensing it. He nodded instead. “Indeed. They were sent to discuss several matters of importance with the _Mand’alor,_ but also to retrieve Master Koon and Knight Billaba.” Kenobi nodded again.

“So what can I help with, _Ba’ji?_ ”

 _What do you know about your father’s past? Has he ever spoken of the Jedi? Of being one of us?_ Mace was supposed to say. This was the Council’s decision, after all, whether or not Mace agreed with bringing a ten-year-old Initiate into this.

Instead, the words that came out were, “Are there any other traditions or cultural milestones you are aware of that we should begin preparing for?” Mace blinked, surprised by himself, though it had almost seemed like that had been the Force’s intervention, rather than his own choice. That would certainly be odd, if it was true; Mace had allowed the Force to _guide_ his speech before, to allow it to refine his words to ensure he chose the right ones, but it had never so blatantly taken _control_ of him before.

Initiate Kenobi hummed. “Um… Well, I…” He shifted his weight slightly, and Mace nodded encouragingly to him. He could circle back to the Council’s assignment later—this was important to know, after all. “I should be learning more hand-to-hand combat right now. But that’s… tricky.”

“How so?”

“You’re supposed to learn from your _buir,_ and if they can’t teach you for some reason, then your… Well, the _Al’Aliit._ The… head of your House, I guess?” Kenobi explained, tilting his head thoughtfully as he struggled to translate that into Basic. “But that’s Jaster, so…”

Mace’s lips twitched in a rueful smile at that. “I see what you mean, in that case. Is there anything else you can think of?”

“Not really?” Kenobi said, shrugging one shoulder. “Nothing that would apply right now, _Ba’ji._ Not until my _verd’goten,_ anyway. But that won’t be until after I get my _beskar’gam._ ”

Mace hummed and nodded. “I will request that the matter of your hand-to-hand fighting is brought up to the _Mand’alor,_ and your father,” he said, and Kenobi nodded again slowly. “We also intend to ask them if there are any other traditions we might be unaware of.”

“ _Vor’e, Ba’ji._ ”

Mace nodded. He was running out of excuses to keep Kenobi here, if he didn’t ask what he’d been sent to ask. He braced himself, taking a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, and—

The Force curled around him, warm and comforting, and four words floated through Mace’s mind, a voiceless, echoing whisper—

_You are not ready._

He sucked in a breath as the Force retreated again, rubbing at his temples and scowling. Not ready? Not ready for _what?_

“ _Ba’ji?_ ” Kenobi sounded concerned, and Mace dropped his hands, forcing a smile onto his face.

“I’m alright, Initiate,” he assured him. “Simply an… unexpected message from the Force.”

“Oh. Um… Is there anything else you needed?”

Mace knew how displeased the Council would be with his decision, but… “No, Initiate Kenobi. Let’s get you back to Bear Clan.”

_You are not ready._

The words echoed through his mind all throughout the rest of the walk towards the creche, and then the walk to his own quarters, and kept Mace from sleep.

Not ready? Not ready for _what,_ exactly? This time, the Force danced away from him, just out of reach. Mace could feel the Shatterpoints, twisting and breaking just out of his Sight, and he scowled.

_You are not ready._

Not ready for _what?_ Mace asked again, but the Force gave him only silence as its answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Tion'ke'gyce, Baar'ur Eerin? - Is that an order, Healer Eerin?
> 
> So, just a heads up for everybody: one of my family members got COVID, and now has pneumonia. :( Thankfully it doesn't look too serious right now, but I may be a little slower to update since I've already had COVID so I will be the one helping them out while they're sick, but know that I'm fine! It's just Real Life Stuff going on.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your well-wishes! :D My family member is doing okay. On lots of meds, and slowly getting better. :)
> 
> I swear that I WANT to get to Quinlan and Tholme, but then my brain was like "but wait, what has Depa been doing?" Wayii.

Though Depa had expressed her doubts, Plo had known that Ben Kenobi would show himself. If Plo had to choose one facet of Mandalorian culture to claim an understanding of, it was their care for their young. There was nothing a Mandalorian would not do for their child. And, if Ben Kenobi  _ was  _ both Force-sensitive and trained, Plo didn’t doubt that he would be able to sense Plo’s sincerity. The two had a common purpose, in seeing to Obi-Wan’s welfare and the soundness of his Mandalorian education.

So Plo was not at all surprised when he heard someone approaching, their footfalls purposefully heavy to alert him to their presence, since his sense of them in the Force was muted, obscured by  _ beskar’gam.  _ He took one last long, slow breath before opening his eyes. He was sitting near Ben Kenobi’s preferred meditation spot, though not quite in exactly the same place, and Jango Fett was gone, now, though he had been sitting quietly on the bench when Plo had begun his meditation.

He turned his thoughts to his visitor, and smiled beneath his mask. He was all but certain that he knew who this was, though he could not be certain until they spoke, or removed their helmet. Plo studied the armor, almost identical to what Ben Kenobi had worn when he’d come before the Council, to give Obi-Wan to the Order, though he recalled white trim, now painted orange instead. If he understood the meaning behind the colors correctly, white for new beginnings, for  _ cin vhetin, _ would no longer be appropriate after so many years, though it would have made sense at the time, considering Ben Kenobi had sworn the  _ Resol’nare  _ not long before Obi-Wan was delivered to them. The new orange was for… a lust for life, he thought.

Plo continued his quiet study of the Mandalorian as they approached, and finally came near enough to speak. The Mandalorian stopped several feet away and bowed their head.

“ _ Ba’ji  _ Koon.” Plo smiled beneath his breather and bowed his head in return.

“Sir Kenobi. Thank you for coming.”

Kenobi waved a hand. “ _ N’entye. Ade cuyi vencuyot. _ ” Children are the future, Plo translated slowly, and nodded.

“ _ Gar serim, _ ” Plo answered, and Kenobi tipped his head slightly, as if to thank him for the effort.

“If you would come with me, I will take you to the  _ Goran be Mereel _ —the armorer. He will be the best person to explain our traditions.” Plo hummed and rose.

“Of course. Again, Sir Kenobi, you have my thanks.”

* * *

Jango had left Koon for less than five minutes, and somehow, he’d managed to vanish. He had seemed deep in meditation when Jango left, and that had been the entire reason he’d just left him there. He knew how grumpy Ben could get when his meditation was interrupted, and Jango had just heard what he’d thought sounded like an  _ ad  _ crying out, so he’d gone. As it turned out, Diit, one of the younger  _ adiik’e  _ in the  _ alori’yaim,  _ had fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. Jango had sat with him until the  _ baar’ur  _ got there, and then went straight back to the  _ Jetii.  _ Who was no longer where Jango had left him.

Swearing softly, Jango jammed his  _ buy’ce _ on and did a quick circuit of the winding garden path, but saw no sign of Koon. Grimacing faintly, he hit his commlink.

“ _ ‘Lek, Jan’ika? _ ” Van answered quickly.

“Is Koon with you?”

“...nayc.  _ He’s not with you? _ ”

“ _ Nayc.  _ We were in the gardens, and he was meditating. I heard Diit crying, he fell out of a tree, broke his arm. I left Koon alone for maybe five minutes at most.”

“Wayii,” Van sighed. “ _ I’ll comm him. _ ”

“ _ Vor’e, _ and if you could forward his comm code to me, that would be helpful.”

“ _ On it, Alor’ika. _ ”

Jango flushed and ended the call without waiting for a response. Van wasn’t the only  _ Haat’ad  _ to call him that, an affectionate jibe just as much as a show of support. They thought he would succeed Jaster as  _ Mand’alor,  _ but Jango, personally, thought it was far too early to be putting  _ that  _ on him. He was  _ nineteen,  _ and nowhere near ready to lead. Besides, the title wasn’t hereditary, not like most other worlds’ monarchies. Although someone from the  _ Mand’alor’s aliit  _ was more likely to be elected, since they usually spent their apprenticeship serving the  _ Mand’alor  _ directly, but it didn’t have to be one of their  _ ade. _

And Jango had reminded them all of those facts, but they hadn’t stopped. Jaster had heard it, and Jango had been a bit mortified, but his  _ buir  _ had only smirked at him and shrugged.

The soft chime of his comm alerting him to a text message pulled him from his thoughts, and Jango opened it.

_ I attached Koon’s comm code. He’s not answering now, though. _

He clenched his jaw, downloading the attachment and sending back a polite thanks, because it wasn’t Van’s fault Koon wandered off and was deciding not to answer his comm. Jango forced himself to breathe, to think. Who might know where the  _ Jetii  _ is?

Jango’s brow furrowed, his lips pursing, as a more important question occurred to him: what would have made Koon wander off in the first place? They hadn’t  _ said  _ that the  _ Jetiise  _ shouldn’t go anywhere without an escort, because there was a fine line between guest and prisoner, and Jaster had declared that they would have free range of the stronghold, at least the semi-public areas. But Jango regretted that, now, because Ben’s house wasn’t far from the gardens, and where would Koon have gone if not to find the object of his curiosity?

Frowning deeply, Jango set off for Ben’s house, the three comms he sent to Ben on the way going unanswered. Giving up on that, he made the one call he really hadn’t wanted to.

“Su’cuy,  _ Jango. _ ”

“Tala,” Jango sighed. “I think we might need to prepare for a… situation. With Ben.”

“ _ The _ Jetiise?”

Jango grimaced again, nodding even though she couldn’t see it over the audio-only comm channel. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ The  _ Jetiise. _ ”

* * *

The forge in the stronghold was quite different from the forge Plo had been to in Little Keldabe. There, the actual  _ beskar- _ working happened in another room, behind closed doors, as did Obi-Wan’s painting of the armor. They had been welcome to wait in the attached armory that also served as a meeting room, but Plo, not being  _ Mando’ad,  _ was not allowed into the forge itself. A similar concept was repeated at this forge, though apparently, the low, long building held one large room which contained the forge and armory together, and Plo waited with Kenobi in the courtyard, which was really more of a field with a few trees.

“This is where the  _ goran  _ will watch  _ Mando’ad  _ test their  _ beskar’gam,  _ after modifications and improvements,” Kenobi had explained. “This is also where those not sworn to the  _ Resol’nare  _ must wait until the  _ goran  _ comes for them.”

“Should we not announce ourselves?” Plo had asked, but Kenobi had shaken his still-helmeted head.

“The  _ goran  _ knows everything that happens around the stronghold, and he certainly knows when others have come to visit him,” he’d answered, and Plo could almost imagine a teasing grin on a face that looked much like an older version of Obi-Wan’s, and smiled back beneath his breather.

It had been a little more than an hour, sitting there waiting for the  _ goran,  _ but Plo was far from bored. Kenobi had begun by further explaining the armor to him; apparently, the meanings of the colors on their armor could vary, based on shade and placement on the armor itself, and Kenobi had explained all of his before moving on to showing him the modifications he and the  _ goran  _ had made to his own set. Unsaid was the fact that Kenobi had needed a set with greater flexibility than the rigid armor most  _ Mando’ade  _ wore, and these were modifications that Obi-Wan would likely need to echo. Plo found himself wondering if Kenobi had a lightsaber, and, if so, what his skill was like with a blade. He did not ask, however. Not yet.

There were other  _ Mando’ade  _ in the courtyard as well, waiting for their own appointments with the  _ goran,  _ and once they realized Kenobi was educating Plo on their armor, they swarmed the pair, happy to tell him about their own.

“And your colors…” Plo said, looking to the woman called Liika. She had removed her helmet, as had the man with her, Silas, though Kenobi had yet to do so. Not that Plo was surprised by that; he had likely worn the  _ beskar  _ intentionally, to keep Plo from reaching out to him with the Force. Turning his attention back to trying to puzzle out the meaning of Liika’s colors, he studied her armor.

She wore a brown undersuit, called a  _ kute,  _ Plo had been told, and brown was for valor. The armor itself was predominantly brown as well, though her pauldrons were green, for duty, with the sigil of the  _ Haat Mando’ade  _ also in brown layered over the green. But it was the gold trim on the armor that most drew Plo’s attention. Gold was a color that, no matter its placement or design, had only one meaning: vengeance.

“Your armor is… dedicated to both valor and vengeance, is it not?” Plo asked, tilting his head. Liika smiled, an almost feral expression, her teeth bared.

“It is,” she confirmed. “I added the gold after that  _ hut’uunla shabuir  _ Montross betrayed the  _ ‘Alor.  _ Nearly got him killed. Probably  _ would  _ have, if Ben hadn’t been there.”

Plo nodded slowly, tucking that information away to inquire about later. Such a sensitive, inflammatory subject wasn’t one he wanted to dredge up at the moment, not when he was just getting Silas and Liika to relax in his presence.

“I see,” Plo said instead, nodding. He turned to Silas, whose armor was mostly dark grey with blue trim, trying to begin puzzling out the meanings behind it all, until a whisper from the Force had him turning back to the arched entrance to the courtyard.

“ _ There  _ you are.” It was a human with pale skin and blonde hair, though Plo’s attention was drawn by the simple teal tunics they wore, covered by silver and black vambraces. Teal, he knew, was for healing, and Plo was beginning to think that all of the Healers in the stronghold wore at least vambraces. He wondered if they had full sets, and if they ever saw use. He was certain at least some of them must; the  _ Haat’ade  _ would surely have need of combat medics. “You missed your appointment.”

Kenobi huffed and shook his head. “I could hardly miss an appointment I did not schedule, Tala.”

“The  _ Alor’ika  _ scheduled it for you,” the Healer returned. “Which you would know if you checked your damn commlink.”  _ Alor’ika _ —that was a new word.  _ Alor  _ was generally used as a shortened form of  _ Mand’alor,  _ but  _ Alor’ika  _ would mean something closer to… “little leader,” Plo thought. Who might that be? Jango or Arla, perhaps, though he had thought the proper title for them both would be  _ Ad be’Alor. _

Kenobi stared at the Healer, tilting his head slightly, and then looked pointedly around the courtyard. “We turned them off when we reached the courtyard, of course.”

“Quite convenient,” Tala drawled, and then turned her attention to Plo. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Tala, Clan Venn, House Kryze. She/her/hers.”

Plo bowed his head. “Well met. I am Plo Koon, he/him/his.”

She nodded again at him before turning back to raise an eyebrow at Kenobi. “We checked, and you don’t have an appointment with the  _ goran,  _ so this can’t be about your  _ beskar’gam.  _ What are you doing here?”

“ _ Ba’ji  _ Koon has asked to learn more about our traditions, to better assist Obi-Wan.”

“Did you now?” she murmured, looking back at Plo, who inclined his head slightly. She smiled and nodded to him before looking to Silas and Liika. “Can you two see him to the  _ goran?  _ I need a  _ word  _ with Ben.”

Kenobi began to protest, but he was cut off by the other two beside him. “ _ Elek. _ ”

“ _ Vor’e.  _ Shall we,  _ burc’ya? _ ” Tala asked sweetly, though there was a hardness to her gaze as she stared at Kenobi, who stared back at her for a long moment before sighing.

“My apologies,  _ Ba’ji  _ Koon. We will have to resume our conversation another time.”

Plo bowed his head. “Of course.  _ Ret’urcye mhi. _ ”

Kenobi nodded again before rising, grumbling under his breath as he followed Tala away. Plo watched them go for a moment, wondering why everyone seemed so intent on keeping Ben Kenobi away from the Jedi when they also seemed perfectly accepting of the fact that his son was among the Jedi in the Temple. They were keeping secrets, Plo knew, though  _ what  _ secrets those could be, he could not even begin to guess.

He turned back to Silas. “The blue is reliability, I understand. Grey is usually for mourning, and silver for redemption, but that shade, I am not familiar with.”

Silas’s lips twitched in a smile, and he launched into an explanation of the colors he’d first had, why he’d painted them over, and what his new alignment meant. Plo paid close attention, as much as he could with the whispering of the Force in the back of his mind.

Ben Kenobi was important. How, or why, Plo didn’t know, but he intended to find out. The Force itself must have engineered their meeting, and he was not one to turn away from such a sign. Whatever Ben Kenobi knew, whatever he  _ was,  _ Plo was fully invested in the search for answers. Though given how protective all of the other  _ Haat’ade  _ seemed to be of him, especially around Jedi, he would have to take care. This would take no small amount of time, he guessed.

Most of his attention still on Silas as he moved into explaining the modifications he’d made to his armor, Plo began to ponder ways to lengthen his stay on Mandalore.

* * *

“I’m fine, Tala. Truly.” She stopped walking abruptly, turning to frown at him, and then she raised an eyebrow. Ben sighed; he knew that look far too well by now.  _ Mir’baar’ur  _ though she may be, Tala was trained just as the other  _ Haat’ade  _ were, and some of that aggression carried over into her healing duties.

“ _ ‘Lek,  _ you’re completely fine, and that’s why you’re hiding behind the  _ beskar. _ ”

Ben raised an eyebrow under his  _ buy’ce,  _ then reached up to tug it off. “I was honest with you.  _ Ba’ji  _ Koon sent Lunril to me with a note, asking me to direct him to someone who would be able to tell him what will need to be done with Obi-Wan’s training and armor.”

Tala softened somewhat at that, knowing that there was nothing Ben would not do for Obi-Wan, but shook her head. “You scared the  _ osik  _ out of Jan’ika. He’s been tearing apart the  _ alori’yaim  _ looking for you and Koon.”

Ben frowned at that. “Why?”

“He was supposed to be watching Koon,” Tala answered. “But one of the  _ adiik’e  _ fell in the gardens and broke an arm. Jango heard them crying, went to check on them, and found the  _ Jetii  _ missing when he returned. Then he went straight to you, but you weren’t in.”

“...oh.” Tala snorted and shook her head.

“‘Oh,’” she echoed. “Ben, be honest with me. Are you alright?”

He tilted his head, considering the question rather than giving an automatic answer. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ I’m alright. No flashbacks, no unsettling visions.”

“And the  _ beskar? _ ”

“ _ Jetiise  _ tend to have… a specific  _ sense  _ in the Force. It’s been… difficult to feel them so near.” Another selective truth. It  _ was  _ difficult to be able to feel the presences of his once-friends so close, and know that they had no idea who he was. But that was fine. He would manage. It was keeping his secrets that truly concerned him.

Tala nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll let you off the hook, just this once. But you  _ will  _ check in with me weekly for as long as you and the  _ Jetiise  _ are both here.  _ Tayli'bac? _ ”

“ _ Elek. _ ”

“ _ Jate.  _ Now, you’d better go find Jan’ika before he works himself even further into a panic.”

* * *

When Depa had been walking through the stronghold back towards her rooms and felt a sudden flare of  _ Dark-anger-not-quite-hate  _ in the Force, she hadn’t hesitated to look for the source of the feelings. What she had found had been a small gaggle of younglings, the eldest among them not quite teens yet, if she had to guess, the group growing larger as others heard the commotion and flocked to them, a circle forming around two of the younglings who looked and sounded like they were about to brawl.

Depa couldn’t understand what they were yelling at each other, two little human or near-humans, one with dark coloring and the other with red hair, but she thought she recognized  _ buir,  _ the word for a parent, and  _ aliit,  _ the word for a family, or Clan. Judging from the sudden silence and a rapid increase in tension in the Force, that had been quite some insult.

“ _ K’eparavu takisit, _ ” one of the younglings, the one with red hair, growled. The other raised their chin.

“ _ Nayc. _ ”

Depa stepped forward, just slightly into the circle, keeping her hands clasped together, wishing her robe had survived, because Mandalore had few viable replacements for a Jedi cloak, and no one wore flowing sleeves large enough tuck their hands into. She missed her Jedi tunics, though the tunics and leggings she had been given were all quite comfortable.

“ _ Su cuy’gar, _ ” Depa said, and smiled as she waited for a response. The  _ anger-and-almost-hate  _ was dimming slightly in the Force, overlaid with a heavy sense of  _ bewilderment  _ from the younglings.

“ _ Su’cuy, _ ” the younglings chorused tentatively.

“I apologize, but I do not understand much Mando’a,” Depa said, and they both frowned at her. “It sounded like there was trouble. Is everything alright?”

They just stared at her for a long moment, and then the redheaded child shook her head.

“ _ Nayc.  _ He insulted my  _ aliit.  _ So now we have to fight.”

“I see,” Depa said. She would have to tread carefully here; from the crash-course in Mandalorian culture she’d been receiving via her unexpected immersion, she knew that an insult to one’s Clan was usually considered quite serious. A question of honor to be settled on the battlefield. Of course, these children had no weapons, and were not even wearing full armor, but Depa had no doubt that even so young they could likely do considerable damage to one another. “May I ask your names?”

“I’m Ret, Clan Eldar, House Vizsla,” the dark-haired child said slowly. “He/him/his.”

Depa nodded to him and looked to the other child. “Bo-Katan, Clan and House Kryze. She/her/hers.”

Ah, so  _ this  _ was Satine’s younger sister. Depa had heard quite a bit about her already, from Satine. The two seemed to share some… tension of their own, with their wildly contrasting views on what the future of Mandalore should look like. Their father, Adonai Kryze, was the Duke of Kalevala and the overseer of Sundari by way of his position in the New Mandalorian camp. Though he was a moderate, and had apparently convinced the New Mandalorians to give  _ Mand’alor  _ Mereel their support after he claimed the Darksaber. Somehow, that moderate man had turned out two wildly fervent supporters for two different sides.

“Well met, Ret, Bo-Katan,” Depa said, bowing her head. “I am Depa Billaba. May I ask what was actually said?”

Bo-Katan scowled. “He said I shouldn’t even be getting  _ beskar’gam  _ because there’s no way my  _ aliit  _ could train me, since none of them know how to fight. Which isn’t true, but I’ll have to fight him to prove it.”

“I see,” Depa repeated slowly. She looked to Ret. “Do you confirm that this is what you said?” He nodded.

“Everyone knows Kryzes are pacifist  _ hut’uun’e. _ ” There were some nods amongst the other children, and some scowls. Depa hummed.

“I believe I understand the nature of the problem,” Depa said, nodding. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if they would accept some peaceful resolution to this, but her instincts told her that they would not. Well, in that case, the best she could do without inadvertently stepping on any toes and potentially causing a diplomatic incident by disrespecting the Mandalorians’ cultural mores would be to see that as little harm came to them as possible. Depa had no idea how serious the younglings’ version of this dispute could be, but if it was as serious as one adult Mandalorian saying that to another adult Mandalorian… Well, that it would end with a brawl was no surprise.

“You are both determined to fight each other?” Both younglings nodded wordlessly, Bo-Katan’s hands clenching into fists while Ret clenched his jaw visibly. “Then I would ask to be present for this to ensure neither of you is too badly injured, and that you not do so indoors.” They blinked at her, and then nodded slowly. Depa smiled and nodded back at them. “ _ Vor’e.  _ Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think the chapter after the next one is when we'll get to Tholme and Quin, maybe. I already have some snippets written for once they get here, and I think it'll take another chapter to fill in the gap. Hopefully. Maybe 2? Ugh. I struggle with writing scenes in the proper order, LOL.
> 
> This particular arc is going to be very Ben-focused. Once we get to Ilum for baby!Obi, then we'll get a lot more focus on him for a while. :)
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Tayli'bac? - Understand?  
> K'eparavu takisit - Eat your insult (Okay, I tried on this one. N'eparavu takisit means I'm sorry, lit. I eat my insult. So I exchanged the Ni (contracted to N' for a prefix on a word beginning with a vowel) and changed it to K' (for Ke) to make it an order instead. If anyone knows better Mando'a, please send help)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! :D
> 
> First of all, thank you again to everyone who expressed their well wishes for my family. :) They're recovering, and still at home, no need for a hospital, so I'm calling that a win!
> 
> Second, I'm sorry this chapter seems a little disjointed. I've had the chapter after this one mostly written for a very, very long time. It was one of the first scenes I wrote for this AU, and I really like it, so I had to find a way to introduce it here. I reworked this one like a million times, but decided that meh, it is what it is, and it sets up what I need it to for the next part.

“I truly didn’t mean to worry you.” Jango sighed and shook his head.

“So you’ve said, _ba’vodu._ It’s fine. But you knew _buir_ wanted you to comm him or Tala if you were planning on meeting the _Jetiise,_ ” Jango answered. Ben sighed back.

“ _Elek,_ Jan’ika. I know. But it was—”

“—For Ob’ika,” Jango finished. “You’ve said that, too. It’s not… that we want to keep you from them.” That was a lie, and Jango was sure that they both knew it, from the way Ben ticked one eyebrow up ever-so-slightly, but he barreled on. “We’re… concerned.”

That made Ben smile, but it was one of those smiles that was sad, bittersweet, a bit hopeful, all at once. Jango frowned, because that expression was not helping his level of concern.

“Ben—”

“ _Alor’ika,_ Ben!” They both looked over at Myles, jogging up the path towards them, his bucket under one arm, and Jango tensed at the strange grimace on his face. That couldn’t mean anything good.

“ _Me’vaar ti gar?_ ” Jango asked.

“The _Jetii,_ Billaba, she’s…” Myles frowned, and then shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I don’t really know what she’s doing, to be honest, but everyone’s spoiling for a fight. Something set off that tiff between Bo-Katan and Ret.”

Jango groaned. Those two were a headache and a half to deal with when they were near each other. Ret’s Clan, the Eldars, were under the banner of House Vizsla, and had been _Kyr’tsad_ supporters until Jaster claimed the _Dha’Beskad._ Even when they’d switched sides, the predominantly-New Mandalorian House Kryze had hated everything they stood for. They’d taken it somewhat… personally. Jango thought it would be best to let the two of them fight it out, like Jango and Myles had. Weeks of standoffish snapping at each other had culminated in a brawl, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Sometimes that was the only way for one _Mando’ad_ to get another’s measure.

A _Jetii,_ Jango realized slowly, wasn’t likely to understand that. Billaba was probably trying to stop them from fighting. He glanced at Ben briefly, wishing that he had more time to deal with his _ba’vodu_ first, and then sighed and shook his head.

“Where are they?”

* * *

The younglings led Depa to one of the fields off to the side of the garden, used as a training ground for the younger children as well as jetpack practice (and hadn’t _that_ been something to watch, Depa remembered with some amusement), and immediately made a larger ring than they had before in the hall, leaving Depa, Bo-Katan, and Ret in the center. The two younglings stared at her, and Depa felt their impatience flaring in the Force, and she smiled again serenely at them.

“What are the terms?” Depa asked, and Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed at her.

“We fight until he yields, and takes back what he said.” Ret scowled.

“Or until _she_ yields.” Depa hummed.

“Perhaps you would both agree to fight until one of you yields, or first blood is drawn?” she suggested, and Bo-Katan and Ret exchanged looks.

“Fine,” Ret said. Bo-Katan nodded, and stuck out her arm. Ret clasped it, hand-to-wrist, and Depa nodded.

“Very well, then.” With that, she stepped back just enough to give them all of the room in the circle she could while still placing herself in front of the other younglings, ready to get to Bo-Katan and Ret if anything should go wrong.

Bo-Katan and Ret began to circle each other, and there was another swell of tension in the Force. Ret lunged first, but Bo-Katan was ready for him, and fast. She dodged what Depa thought had been meant to be a tackle, and then Bo-Katan punched him in the back of the shoulder, where there would be a gap in the plates of _beskar’gam,_ had he been wearing armor.

Ret stumbled under the force of the hit, but didn’t fall, and turned to throw an elbow at Bo-Katan’s face. She ducked and mostly managed to avoid the hit, although she took a glancing blow to her forehead. Depa reached out with the Force, and got a vague assurance that Bo-Katan would be fine, either very mildly concussed, or not at all. Depa remained where she was, making no move to stop them.

Ret and Bo-Katan traded a few punches back and forth, Depa studying their fighting styles as well as their feelings in the Force. Both of them had dulled from _red-hot-anger_ to _focused-determination,_ and she smiled to herself. They were fairly evenly matched, Ret clearly larger and stronger than Bo-Katan, but Bo-Katan was much faster and more flexible. It was an interesting fight to witness, and she wondered if the differences in their fighting styles were because of their different builds, or if it had more to do with how their Clans taught them.

Finally, Ret made a mistake: he managed to land a punch to Bo-Katan’s jaw, sending her back a step, and then, taking advantage of the space he had created for himself, Ret tried to kick her. Bo-Katan moved just enough to grab his leg, yanking with both hands to jerk his leg sideways, forcing him to fall down to the ground if he didn’t want something dislocated. Now that she’d gotten him on the ground, Bo-Katan went in for the finish. She threw herself on top of him, audibly knocking the wind out of him as she planted a knee in his stomach, and then brought the heel of her hand down onto his face. Depa winced as she heard the telltale _crunch,_ and had no doubt she had just broken his nose. Sure enough, a moment later, blood began flowing, and Ret reached up to protect his face, but Bo-Katan was already getting up.

There was silence, for a long moment, as Bo-Katan just stared at the boy sprawled on the ground, and then he groaned, one hand pinching his nose as he rolled, getting to one knee. “ _N’eparavu takisit._ ”

Bo-Katan nodded sharply, and then held out a hand to help him up, which made Depa grin broadly. She had hoped that this would be much like the creche fights she herself had gotten into as an Initiate; she had always had a strong personality, and combined with youth and a lack of control, that had led to more than a few arguments with other hotheaded children. But, sometimes, all that was needed to ease that tension was a release.

“That was well-fought on both your parts,” Depa praised them, and both Ret and Bo-Katan tentatively grinned. “And now you both need to see the Healers.”

Ret and Bo-Katan exchanged scowls with each other, then turned to glare at Depa, who raised an eyebrow at them. Bo-Katan opened her mouth, no doubt to argue with the order, but movement near the fringes of the circle caught Depa’s attention, and she turned, bowing her head in greeting to Jango, Ben Kenobi, and Myles.

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” she greeted them, bowing her head. Kenobi nodded back, but the other two were slowly looking between Depa and the two children. Depa turned back to them as well, giving them a stern look. “To the Healers. Both of you.”

“ _‘Lek, Jetii,_ ” they both said, Ret far more nasally than Bo-Katan, and Depa hid a smile as she nodded at them. The circle let them pass, but did not disperse, and Depa wondered what they were waiting for.

“What happened?” Jango asked, looking a bit lost. Depa smiled pleasantly.

“Ret said something rather unkind about Clan Kryze, and so they fought to settle the matter.”

“And you let them?” Myles asked, blinking at her. Depa nodded. “Huh. Didn’t expect that, from a _Jetii._ Thought you were like the New Mandalorians.”

Depa hummed and tilted her head. “To be a pacifistic Jedi is not _impossible,_ but there are very few of us. Most who hold such a view do not usually take field missions, or if they do, they are long-term postings at research centers or other low-risk assignments. We are not to be the aggressors in conflict, but neither can we back down in the face of injustice. We go where we are needed, and those who need us most are often in dangerous places. We must always be prepared to defend ourselves, and others.”

“Well said,” Kenobi murmured. Jango had a sort of thoughtful look on his face.

“That’s… not unlike the philosophy of the Codex,” Jango said.

“The Supercommando Codex?” Depa clarified, and Jango nodded. “Perhaps I could read it. I would be most interested in the similarities and differences to Jedi philosophy.”

Myles laughed. “That won’t be a problem. Ideally, the _‘Alor_ would want _everyone_ to read it. We’ll find you a copy.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Depa said, and Myles’s grin grew even wider at the Mando’a.

Jango nodded once, that speculative gleam still in his eyes, and then he turned to look around the circle of young faces. “Why are you still in a battle circle? Anyone else need to have a go?”

There was a beat of silence at that, the younglings exchanging glances with the others beside them, and then Pavia, one of the younglings who had found their way to Depa over the last few days, spoke up.

“Well, Ben’s here now,” she said slowly. “And _Jetii_ Depa is here, and we were wondering maybe… Would you show us something?”

Depa blinked at her. “You’d like us to spar?” Pavia nodded. Depa looked back at Ben Kenobi, his helmet hiding both his physical expression and any hint of what he felt in the Force. She wondered if he had kept his lightsaber, after leaving the Order. If he had already been Knighted, it was likely, she thought. “I would love to.”

Jango looked alarmed at that, and quickly glanced between the two of them. “Absolutely not.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Kenobi said at the same time. Jango huffed and turned to Kenobi, saying something under his breath that made Kenobi sigh. “Perhaps another time?”

Depa smiled and nodded. “Of course.” Her smile turned a bit wry at the disappointed whining starting up from the younglings, but they began to disperse. Jango looked to Myles, who nodded and turned back to Depa.

“If you’d like to come with me, I can find you a copy of the Codex,” Myles offered, and Depa nodded.

“Thank you.” She gestured for him to lead on, following just behind. Depa spared one last glance back at Ben Kenobi and Jango; the latter was glaring at the former, who looked fondly exasperated.

She didn’t know why the rest of the Mandalorians seemed so intent on keeping Kenobi away from them, especially when he seemed to have no problem with them himself, but Depa thought it might be prudent to find out. At the very least, it would be a good starting point for Master Tholme and his Padawan, when they arrived.

Nodding to herself, Depa turned her thoughts back to the present, and followed Myles back into the stronghold.

* * *

Tala was furious with him, but it only made Ben smile—briefly, hoping she wouldn’t see the expression. It wasn’t the _cold_ fury of the Dark, this was warm, _protective_ anger, and the care that showed was touching.

“—more importantly, Ben, _I_ haven’t cleared you to spar with the _Jetiise,_ ” she said, giving him a dark glower. Ben raised an eyebrow.

“You cleared me for _combat,_ Tala. Mere _sparring_ is hardly—”

“Sparring with the _karking Jetiise_ is different, and we both know it,” she retorted hotly. “Given what you’ve told me of what happened before you left the _Jetiise,_ I’m concerned it would be a trigger for you.” Ben sighed.

“I understand your reluctance,” he said. Ben knew that he would have no choice but to cooperate with Tala. He had no way to explain to her that sparring with Depa Billaba was familiar and nostalgic, not _triggering,_ not without telling her the truth. And if he couldn't tell her, and simply refused to cooperate with her restriction, he risked his medical clearance being revoked, and then he would be entirely grounded. Ben couldn’t afford that, not with what he had already set in motion. He had to get to Naboo, and Rattatak— _yes,_ Takodana too, Ben thought as the Force surged rather insistently again—and…

Ben had to figure out what to do about the Jedi. He refused to lie to them, because that would only weaken his credibility later, when he did want to convince them of the truth, but he hardly wanted to answer those questions _now._

But, Ben realized, he had already given too much away. He couldn’t stop the cascade of questions that he knew would come, even if the Jedi were too polite (or too underhanded) to ask him their questions directly. Hels, Ben even strongly suspected that Tholme and Quinlan were being sent to _Manda’yaim_ for _him_ more than the information-sharing agreement they were hoping to forge.

He couldn’t be objective. Ben sighed again, pretending not to notice Tala watching him as he sipped at his shig in silence. In times like this, _before,_ Ben had always had someone to go to. In his youth, it had been Qui-Gon, or one of his friends’ Masters; as a Knight, it had been Master Yoda and Mace; at the end, on Tatooine, Qui-Gon had returned to him.

None of them were options now. Ben glanced at Tala over the rim of his mug, but discounted telling her. He had a sneaking suspicion that, while she would believe him, hearing about the full extent of the… difficulties in his previous life would cause her to ground him anyway for additional therapy.

No, there was only one person—or perhaps two, _maybe_ three—Ben could talk to about this. And he _had_ to do it soon anyway, he knew; they were quickly coming to a point when Ben would need help, he would need the _Haat’ade_ out there in the galaxy. Ben was only one man, after all; he couldn’t be everywhere, and there were too many people to save, too many places to go.

Ben couldn’t do this alone.

“I fold,” Ben said, and Tala smiled. “I won’t spar with the _Jetiise._ ”

“ _Vor’e,_ Ben. After you’ve had more exposure, and calmed down when they’re around, we’ll discuss it again,” Tala said, and Ben nodded.

“Reasonable,” Ben said, somewhat grudgingly, and Tala smirked at him, shrugging one shoulder. He glanced at the chrono on the commlink on his vambrace, and nodded to himself. Jaster’s Council Meeting should be over in about an hour, which was plenty of time to prepare. He finished his shig and stood, nodding to Tala. “ _Vor’e, vod._ ”

Tala gave him a slightly grumpy look, and Ben smiled sweetly. She huffed and shook her head. “ _Ke's_ _lana, di’kut._ ”

Ben chuckled and gave her a little bow—at the shoulders, just enough to be playfully mocking without being truly insulting—and she rolled her eyes at him dramatically, though she seemed more at ease now that he was teasing her again. Stooping to grab his _buy’ce,_ Ben excused himself from Tala’s hom, making his way straight to the stronghold proper before he could lose his nerve and change his mind.

The Force whispered encouragingly, just as it had seven years ago, when he’d first spoken to Lark: _Trust._ _Help._

Ben nodded to himself; with such a clear sign from the Force, who was he to disobey? He nodded to the _verd’e_ in the halls, though he didn’t stop to make conversation as he usually did. They parted for him easily, and Ben considered going to Jaster’s office before dismissing that idea; he knew that there was always a pair of _Haat’ade_ listening in to what happened in Jaster’s office, because the man had insisted on not having cameras in his office, and for security, they had insisted in turn on audio surveillance at a minimum. Ben knew that they were just as likely to hear Jaster swearing darkly as they were to hear him snoring when he fell asleep at his desk, or on the couch, but they couldn’t hear this.

Ben redirected to the wing reserved for Jaster and his family. It was the work of only a few moments to pick the lock on Jaster’s door with a liberal use of the Force, and then he settled into the room to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ke'slana, di'kut - Go, idiot (Command)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally here! :D I have had over half of this chapter written since I initially got the idea for this AU.

Ben was in his sitting room. Not the wing’s main living area, but the one in Jaster’s personal suite. Jaster paused in the doorway, cape still on,  _ buy’ce  _ in his hands, and blinked at him. Ben was sitting on his couch, frowning at a glass of what Jaster guessed was  _ tihaar,  _ judging by the open bottle on the table.

This was… not normal.

“ _ Me’vaar ti gar? _ ” Jaster called, and Ben swirled his drink before downing the rest of it like a shot. He didn’t look up to meet Jaster’s eyes.

“I have to tell you something.”

Jaster grimaced, taking in the alcohol in a new light. “Bad news?”

“ _ Nayc.  _ Not… necessarily,” Ben muttered, and then shook his head. Jaster wondered how much he’d already had to drink, and whether he was likely to run off if Jaster took the time to change. Deciding to compromise, he stripped off the cape and the rest of his  _ beskar’gam,  _ leaving only his kute and socks, taking the time to put it all neatly onto the armor rack, but he’d wait until tomorrow to clean it. Nodding to himself, he went to join Ben, who had poured himself another drink, and one for Jaster.

He sat in the armchair beside the couch, studying Ben. He looked… rumpled, like he hadn’t slept much the night before. Jaster frowned again and picked up the drink, taking a bracing sip.

“Is this about the  _ Jetiise? _ ” Jaster asked, and Ben hummed.

“That is… complicated.” Jaster sighed, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face.

“ _ Vod. _ ”

“I  _ want  _ to tell you, but I’m not sure how to begin,” Ben sighed. Jaster sighed back, shaking his head.

“It can’t be that bad,” he muttered, and Ben barked a laugh that made Jaster regret that statement. “Is it about Ob’ika?”

Ben was quiet at that. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ It has everything to do with him. From a—”

“From a certain point of view,” Jaster finished the familiar refrain. He was quiet for a moment, and then took another drink. “Do the  _ Jetiise  _ know that Obi-Wan is  _ eyayah? _ ”

Ben finally looked up, frowning at him. “An echo?”

“A clone.”

Ben blinked at him, opened his mouth, and snapped it shut again. He took another drink, and then said, “I beg your pardon?”

Jaster waved a hand. “I’ve always known. Tala came to me about it, when the two of you were first brought here. When she ran your DNA, the system threw an error because it detected an identical sample.” 

“...oh. I realize that my DNA is in the Register, but not _his_ with the _baar'ur'e..._ That was careless of me,” Ben muttered, and Jaster sighed again.

“It doesn’t matter  _ what  _ he is,” Jaster said firmly. “I’ve never cared about that. I don’t  _ like  _ cloning, no, because of the potential for abuse there, and I wondered where he came from, and why your own clone didn’t know you until you rescued him from his supposed ‘mother’ on Stewjon. But you’ve always clearly cared about him, so I didn’t press the issue. Did the  _ Jetiise  _ have something to do with… how he came to be?”

Ben stared at him, and then laughed, and then frowned again, shaking his head. Jaster frowned back.

“Obi-Wan is not… He isn’t my clone,” Ben said haltingly. “The truth is… far stranger than that.” Jaster raised an eyebrow, and Ben took a large swallow of  _ tihaar,  _ and then a deep breath. “About… forty years from now, I died.” Jaster blinked at him, wondering if he should comm Venn, if Ben had had some kind of vision that unsettled him again—but his comm was in the other room, where he’d carelessly left it when he stripped off his belt. “I had learned how to project my consciousness after death, becoming a sort of… Force ghost. I remained that way for several years, until my mission was complete, and then I… let go. When I did, I woke up again. On Stewjon.” He took another drink of  _ tihaar,  _ and Jaster really didn’t like the way his hand was shaking. “In my own past.” 

Ben let that sit for a moment, and Jaster took another drink of his own before sighing. “ _ Vod… _ ”

“I know how it sounds,” Ben said, smiling a bit wryly. “But you know I’ve been keeping secrets. You know it’s strange that I know so much about  _ Jetiise  _ who have never met me. And there is absolutely no record of me anywhere until Stewjon, almost eight years ago, now. Not to mention everything I’ve simply  _ known.  _ Visions are never so frequent  _ and  _ so accurate, though it was a convenient excuse.”

Jaster sipped at his  _ tihaar  _ as he contemplated that. Ben  _ was  _ right. His outlandish story did explain more of the mysteries around him than the working—and far more plausible—theory that Obi-Wan was his clone.

“So, you lived one life as a  _ Jetii,  _ and chose to become  _ Mando’ad  _ the second time around?” Jaster asked. “How does that happen?”

“It’s… complicated,” Ben repeated slowly, something strained and sad in his voice, and his eyes. Jaster frowned again. “Getting into my previous relationship with Mandalore would require context that I can’t give you. Not yet. Honestly, that is the reason I  _ hadn’t  _ told you before now. I wanted to be able to tell you everything at once. But needs must, I’m afraid.”

“What  _ can  _ you tell me?” Jaster asked, and Ben took a deep breath.

“I’ll start at the beginning,” Ben said. “I, obviously, wasn’t saved by a time-traveling, resurrected Force ghost.” Jaster snorted, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. Ben  _ seemed  _ lucid (if perhaps a bit tipsy), and aware enough that Jaster was willing to sit here and listen to him. He could sort out comming Venn later. “I was saved by a Jedi, and taken directly to the Coruscant Temple…”

* * *

Jaster was glad that Ben had brought out three bottles of  _ tihaar.  _ The man could  _ drink,  _ not that he did so often. Something about the Force enhancing his metabolism. Between the two of them, they were just about ready to open the third bottle by the time Ben finished his story, with his arrival on  _ Manda’yaim  _ with Ob’ika.

Frankly, if Jaster wasn’t a bit  _ haryc b’aalyc _ himself, he’d probably want to punch something. He still wasn’t sure if that was just some sort of vision, but… Jaster couldn’t ignore the evidence. Obi-Wan had visions, and he spoke of them, sometimes, and none were ever as clear as Ben’s had always seemed to be. None of them were as  _ accurate  _ as Ben could be, just as he’d pointed out. He’d wondered if that was just because Ob’ika was so young, and hadn’t had the training yet that Ben had, but this… It made a sickening sort of sense.

But if it  _ was  _ real… The  _ implications  _ of that were horrifying. Ben’s  _ life  _ had been horrifying.

And that explained so very much.

“I believe you,” Jaster finally said, and Ben scrunched up his nose slightly. Jaster grinned; that was something he’d rarely ever seen Ben do. He must be drunker than he seemed at a glance.

“Just like tha’?” Ben slurred, and oh, yes, he was very, very drunk.

“It makes too much sense. And I’ve been around you long enough to realize how much I don’t know about what the  _ ka’ra  _ can actually do. I think it’s possible, and I know you. I don’t think you’re lying. And it’s not just a vision, either, not when there’s Obi-Wan as proof,” Jaster sighed. Ben hummed.

“Oh.”

“Why tell me this  _ now? _ ” Jaster asked. Ben sighed.

“I need help. An’ the Force said  _ now. _ ”

Jaster poured again for them both, silently resolving to make it the last before he put his foot down and hauled them both to the kitchen for a snack, and then to bed. “What do you need,  _ vod? _ ”

He didn’t get an answer, and looked over to see Ben’s head starting to fall down to his chest as he nodded off. Jaster snorted, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he decided what to do with him. Sighing, Jaster set his cup down and stood—somewhat shakily, and the world was a bit blurred around the edges, but he wasn’t nearly as far gone as Ben was. Jaster put one knee on the couch, leaning over Ben, and began stripping off his  _ beskar’gam. _ Ben made a soft noise of protest, and Jaster hummed.

“Just me, Ben.”

Ben made some sort of noise that might have been an attempt at words, but Jaster couldn’t make them out if it was. Shaking his head again, he finished taking off Ben’s armor, leaving him in his  _ kute,  _ and carefully laid the  _ beskar’gam  _ out on the couch beside him, wishing he had a second armor rack for it in his rooms. He stood and looked at Ben, and then at the bed. Normally, he would just carry him, but while he hadn’t had quite as much to drink as Ben, he wasn’t confident enough in his ability this soused.

“Ben. I need you to walk a little.”

“ _ An’ibac cuyi par ner Mand’alor, _ ” Ben mumbled, cracking one eye. Jaster laughed and hauled him to his feet, holding him steady when Ben made another disgruntled noise and squeezed his eyes shut, probably from the spins. He was going to have a hell of a time come tomorrow morning.

Jaster slung one of Ben’s arms over his shoulders and hauled them both to the bed.

“Sleep,  _ vod.  _ We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

* * *

Jango was startled from sleep by a hand on his shoulder, and long instinct and training took over. His eyes flew open as he twisted, bringing up one leg, and launching whoever it was who’d woken him off, rolling down off the bed to hit the floor and landing on top of them, hearing a familiar-sounding  _ oof  _ even as he took the knife he kept under his pillow and held it to their throat—

“ _ Udesii, vod’ika!  _ It’s just me.”

Jango blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes and scowled down at Arla. Slowly, he got up, still glowering at her even as she smiled at him.

“You should know better than that,” Jango muttered, but he still offered a hand to help her up. She snorted and took it, letting him haul her to her feet, still looking far too cheerful for such an early hour. Jango wasn’t quite as bad as Ben, and he could at least think a little before caff, but he was so grumpy most people knew to avoid him until after his first cup.

“The other  _ Jetiise  _ are arriving in two hours, and  _ buir  _ isn’t up yet,” Arla said, and she was still smiling, her eyes bright with mirth that seemed so inappropriate for this early in the morning, in Jango’s opinion, no matter what had happened. “I went to wake him up, and… Well, I thought I’d be a nice  _ ori’vod,  _ and let you see for yourself before I wake them.”

Jango’s brain caught onto that last word, and he frowned. “Them?” Arla’s grin widened and she nodded before grabbing his hand again, not even giving him the chance to right his bedding or change out of his sleep tunics. He scowled, but let her drag him along to Jaster’s rooms. They crept in quietly, and Arla stopped at the door to the bedroom, gesturing for Jango to look for himself. He peered into the room and blinked once, then twice, but the image didn’t change.

Jaster wasn’t alone in his bed, and Jango couldn’t really see the other, not with the way Jaster was wrapped around them, and the blankets pulled up to their chins, but the light glinting off the familiar copper hair was all he needed to see.

He ducked back out of the room, and then shook his head at Arla. “It’s too karking early for this.”

Arla laughed at him brightly, and then both of their heads snapped back to look at the bed as they heard a quiet groan, Jaster starting to stir. Jango shook his head frantically and made an abrupt about-face. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to see what his  _ buir  _ and  _ ba’vodu  _ were—or weren’t—wearing underneath those blankets.

Caff. Jango nodded to himself firmly, marching back out of the room. He needed  _ so much caff  _ before he could deal with… that.

* * *

Quinlan was practically vibrating with excitement as they circled Keldabe, higher up in the dome, waiting for landing instructions. “Breathe, Padawan,” Tholme said flatly, and Quinlan shot him a wide-eyed look.

“Aren’t you excited? We’re the first Jedi actually  _ invited  _ to Mandalore in  _ centuries! _ ” Quinlan sputtered. Tholme shook his head slightly.

“You must be mindful of our mission, Quinlan.” The boy winced a bit, some of his excitement dimming, and Tholme resisted the urge to sigh. He didn’t  _ like  _ the fact that the Council had decided to send one of Initiate Kenobi’s good friends to investigate the rumors that his father was a former-Jedi, but there was nothing to be done about it. They would fulfill their duty, no matter how unpleasant.

“ _ Thank you for your patience,  _ Jetiise.  _ You are cleared to land in bay 11. Your escort will lead you in. _ ” There hadn’t been a fighter escort sent out to meet them as they’d half-expected; instead, there were four Mandalorians, two on either side of the ship, using their jetpacks to keep up with their lazy loops.

Tholme flipped open the comms again. “Thank you.”

“ _ N’entye. _ ” With that, the traffic controller ended the call, and two of the Mandalorians pulled ahead to lead their ship down into the city. Keldabe was colorful, and Tholme saw more than a few other jetpack-wearing Mandalorians buzzing around, though they seemed to know where the traffic lanes were for speeders and landing ships such as theirs, and stayed far away from the ship as they landed. Tholme spared a moment to be grateful that the Order had sent them in an unmarked vessel, one that could pass for civilian; if it had been emblazoned with the symbol of the Order, he suspected that the Mandalorians would have come much closer to them.

They landed at what looked like a military landing field, their little cruiser dwarfed by the twenty-person dropships on either side of them. Tholme glared at Quinlan as he made to jump up the instant they landed, and the teen huffed, but sat back down and helped Tholme finish up the landing procedures on the ship. By the time they were finished, Quinlan was outright  _ twitching  _ in his eagerness to leave the ship, and Tholme sighed, shaking his head.

“You will be on your best behavior, Padawan.”

Quinlan nodded eagerly. “Yes, Master. Except for when we’re doing our sneaking around.” Tholme grimaced, but nodded. Quinlan nodded back, then turned pointedly to the ramp. Tholme sighed again and pushed Quinlan behind him before leaving the ship.

There were rows of fully-armored Mandalorians on either side of the ramp, leading them down a clear walkway towards the delegation at the end of it. Tholme smiled slightly as he saw Plo and Knight Billaba waiting for them, on one side of a Mandalorian wearing a cape; since none of the others were, Tholme assumed that that marked him as the  _ Mand’alor.  _ On the other side of him were two more armored Mandalorians.

Tholme stopped several feet away, and was just about to bow when Quinlan  _ shoved  _ a wordless reprimand through their bond; he caught himself and bowed only his head instead, as did Quinlan. The  _ Mand’alor  _ and the Mandalorians beside him all bowed their heads in return, and then he reached up to pull off his helmet. He was a middle-aged man, with silver starting to overtake his hair near his temples, a crooked nose, and warm hazel eyes.

“ _ Su’cuy gar, Jetiise. Olaram at Manda’yaim, _ ” he said.

Before Tholme could respond, Quinlan jumped in to answer in Mando’a. “ _ Vor entye, Mand’alor! _ ”

Mereel tilted his head slightly, shifting his helmet to hold it under one arm. “ _ Gar kar'tayli  _ Mando’a?”

Quinlan beamed at him. “Ob’ika  _ ni ba'juri. _ ”

Mereel smiled back and nodded before glancing to Tholme, his smile turning a bit wry. “Well, it looks like your  _ Jetii’ba’ji  _ doesn’t understand. I am Jaster Mereel.”

“Tholme,” he introduced himself. “This is my Padawan learner, Quinlan Vos.”

“Well met,” Mereel said. “This—” He gestured to the Mandalorian closest to him, wearing green and red armor; that Mandalorian reached up to remove their helmet as well, revealing a younger face than Tholme might have guessed, with a ruddy complexion, dark hair, and bright amber eyes. “—is Jango Fett, my son. And this—” The other Mandalorian beside Jango also removed their helmet, their armor painted brown with accents of green and gold. There seemed to be little standardization among them, save for the stylized mythosaur skull that was the mark of the  _ Haat Mando’ade,  _ and appeared somewhere on everyone’s armor. “—is Liika Nem, my second.”

Tholme noted the hierarchy, finding it interesting that Mandalore claimed not to pass the title of  _ Mand’alor  _ down on a hereditary basis, but Mereel had still put his son closer at hand than his second. He nodded politely to both of them.

“We are pleased to meet you,” he said, and they nodded back. Tholme then turned to Master Koon and Knight Billaba, floundering for a moment as he tried to recall the accepted Mandalorian substitute for “Master,” knowing they did not like that word (but Quinlan had tried to shove so much Mando’a vocabulary into his mind during their travel time that he could hardly remember any of it), and decided to forgo titles and names entirely for now. “I am pleased to see you both well.”

“And you as well, Tholme,” Plo said, nodding to him.

“We’ll show you where you’ll be bunking, and then give you some time with your fellow  _ Jetiise  _ before latemeal,” Mereel said, and Tholme bowed his head again.

“Thank you.”

Mereel nodded, a bit of exasperation leaking into the Force from him, and as he turned away to lead them into the stronghold, Tholme thought he heard him muttering to himself about “ _ Jetiise  _ feeling the need to thank people for basic decency.” Quinlan must have heard that as well, because he snorted softly, and made a point of thanking the guards who held the doors for them, loudly enough for Mereel to hear him. Mereel turned back to give Quinlan a  _ look,  _ somewhere between amused and rueful, and when he met Tholme’s gaze next, the Master simply nodded, letting just a bit of his weariness leak into his expression. Mereel’s twisted into one of sympathy, and he darted a glance at his son. Tholme smothered a smile, his lips twitching ever-so-slightly, and Mereel nodded to him.

A promising enough start, Tholme decided as Mereel turned away again, though the Force seemed to whisper that this assignment would not be easy. Biting back a sigh, Tholme returned his attention to the present moment, and set himself to memorizing the path to their rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IntrovertedObserver!!! You asked me back in chapter 11 what was up with Ben and Obi-Wan's DNA. I couldn't answer you then, because I didn't want to spoil the reveal that Jaster knew all along that they were technically the same person, but you caught that foreshadowing and I've been giggling every time I think about that comment you left, waiting to get to this chapter! :D To more fully answer the question, Obi-Wan's DNA is on file with the healers, but he's not in the Registry because he's not 13 yet. In my headcanon, they're added to the Registry after their verd'goten, when they're classified as adults, and before that, they're just listed in other datasets as the ward of X House or Clan. :)
> 
> And spedicorn: When you look at Obi-Wan's lightsabers, the grip just shifts higher up after the switch from Ataru to Soresu, but his first and second lightsabers were very similar, which I thought was interesting. The one he built after becoming a Master is the odd one out. But yes, he has a whole new casing now, he didn't just change the grip position, for Reasons I will explain later when we actually see his 'saber. :)
> 
> So you may have noticed from the tags and from this chapter that this fic now has Jaster/Ben. In all honesty, I didn't set out to write them as a couple, just as very close friends. Then my hand slipped? LOL. But for real, though, their dynamic just seemed like that's where it was headed, and so I'm running with it. ;) Just a word on the romance in this fic: the rating is not going up. There will be kisses, innuendo, cuddling, etc., but no smut. Not in this fic, but maybe I'll get up the courage someday for The Lesson (which I am still working on, I promise, I'm just having to retcon an entire story arc now).
> 
> I also added the M/M tag, but kept the Gen tag, because the focus of the fic (for the most part) isn't going to be on their relationship. Let me know if you think I should take off the Gen tag please!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> eyayah - echo  
> An'ibac cuyi par ner Mand'alor - All that I am for my Mand'alor  
> Ob'ika ni ba'juri - Ob'ika is teaching me
> 
> I think those are all of the new words/phrases I haven't used before


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, you guys, the response to the last chapter made me smile. :D
> 
> Just a warning: I may have to begin moderating the comments. I hope not, but if you don't see your comment appear immediately, that'll be because I had to turn it on and it's just waiting for me to approve it. I do appreciate everyone who's commenting and keeping it kind! There are just a few persistent bad apples, but hopefully they calm down. Udesii, people. It's just a fanfic. If you don't share the points of view I present in the story, then I kindly suggest that you don't read it. Trolling or excessively inflammatory comments will just get deleted, so please don't waste your time, or mine. Hit that back button and pick a different story to read, burc'ya. ;)

Arla wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, was going on between Jaster and Ben, but she’d already decided that she approved. They both seemed so  _ lonely,  _ sometimes—especially Ben. Jaster, at least, had her and Jango, but Ben had given Ob’ika up. It hadn’t escaped her notice how much time he’d started spending with the younger  _ adiik’e  _ after Obi-Wan was taken to Coruscanta; Arla almost wondered a bit why he hadn’t adopted another kid yet. But Jaster… He was lonely in a different way. There was a sort of  _ distance  _ between him and most of the  _ Haat’ade,  _ because of his position. Only Liika, Tala, and Ben were able to bridge that gap and interact with Jaster as a friend, as a  _ vod.  _ If it could go beyond that, and they could get close enough to each other, let down their guards, let someone else in… She was happy they could keep each other company, make each other less lonesome.

Still, that didn’t mean that Arla wasn’t going to tease them  _ mercilessly  _ about it. That was her duty, after all, as Jaster’s  _ ad’ika  _ and Ben’s  _ vod’ad. _

So she was waiting in the kitchen for Ben, lounging in her chair and practicing restringing the plasma bow the Night Sisters had given her, and didn’t feel the slightest bit bad when she called far louder than usual, “ _ Jate vaar'tur, ba’vodu! _ ”

Ben raised an eyebrow at her and sing-songed back, “Inside voices, Arl’ika.”

Arla frowned at him, and then noticed that he looked… fine. Normal. He didn’t have a hair out of place, he was already strapped into his  _ beskar’gam,  _ though he’d left his gloves, vambraces, and  _ buy’ce _ —probably still in Jaster’s room, Arla realized with a little smirk.

“I saw the empty bottles, and  _ buir definitely  _ had a headache,” Arla said, not caring that she sounded just a  _ bit  _ petulant. “How are you  _ not  _ hungover?”

Ben smirked back at her. “I purged the alcohol before I fell asleep.”

It was Arla’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What’s the point of drinking if you’re just going to purposely make yourself chuck it back up?”

Ben laughed at that, shaking his head. “ _ Nayc,  _ Arl’ika. I purged it directly from my bloodstream, with the Force.”

Arla blinked at him. “You can do that?”

“Of course. All  _ Jetiise  _ are taught that technique,” Ben said, and then headed for the cabinet Arla knew held his tea. She’d tried it, once, but only once. Some of Ben’s teas were alright, like the pepper tea, but sapir was… Dirt. It tasted like dirt. “Once Padawans turn sixteen, for humans, or their species equivalent, which is the legal drinking age on Coruscant, their Master usually takes them out drinking. It’s an informal tradition, and becomes a practical lesson in purging toxins from the body; a lesson that can be applied to far more harmful toxins as well.”

“So the  _ Jetiise  _ teach their little ones to cure themselves if they’re poisoned by getting them drunk?” Arla said flatly, and Ben hummed an affirmative. “Huh. How’d that go for you?”

Ben chuckled again, put the kettle on, and turned to her, a wry grin on his face. “My  _ Ba’ji  _ was… unconventional. He took me to a skughole cantina when I was thirteen, conveniently on a world with a lower drinking age, and taught me then. I threw up in his boots, but I learned the lesson.” Arla snorted, shaking her head slowly.  _ Technically,  _ thirteen-year-old  _ Mando’ade  _ were adults, and could drink, but  _ could  _ and  _ did  _ were two very different things. They could have  _ netra’gal  _ with mid or latemeal, but no  _ tihaar.  _ Not if there were older relatives around who would give them Hel for it.

“My own Padawan,” Ben continued, and Arla’s focus snapped back to him, though she tried not to look as eager as she was to hear what he would say next, because Ben rarely ever talked about his Padawan, the one who’d died, “had already learned that lesson by the time he came to me. Though not by drinking. But my Grand-Padawan… Well, she was a Togruta. She far outdrank her own  _ Ba’ji  _ before she was drunk enough to  _ need  _ to learn how to purge it.” Ben’s smile turned a bit rueful. “She left a message for a former Senator’s son she’d become friends with before we could convince her to sober up. It was incredibly amusing when he called back the next morning.”

Arla snorted, shaking her head. “I didn’t know you had a  _ bu’ad. _ ” Ben simply nodded, his smile still a bit wistful, but his eyes were clear, so Arla didn’t need to back down yet. “What happened to her?”

Ben shrugged. “It’s difficult to explain. She left the Order, but lived her life as a Jedi regardless.”

“Sort of like you, then,” Arla said, smiling. Ben looked startled by that, and Arla raised an eyebrow. “I talk to Ob’ika just as much as you do, Ben. I’ve learned enough about  _ Jetii  _ philosophy to realize that you follow as much of it as you can, while still being  _ Mando’ad. _ ” Arla frowned thoughtfully, and then shook her head.

Ben hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Arla fell silent, watching him as he turned back to finish his tea. He pulled out his flask, and Arla scoffed. “You hate drinking tea out of anything but a proper cup,  _ ba’vodu. _ ”

“I overslept by quite a bit,” Ben said. “I’ll have to be going.”

“Sorry, but that’s not gonna happen.” Ben turned to her, frowning. Arla shrugged. “Jaster’s orders. He went to greet the other  _ Jetiise,  _ and told me to keep you here until he gets back.”

Ben’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing slightly. “Did he say why?”

“ _'_ _ Lek.  _ He said the two of you… ‘talked’ last night, and he wanted to make sure you got a chance to… _finish._ ” Ben’s frown became somewhat exasperated at the heavy-handed innuendo, and Arla searched his expression for some hint of whether or not it was true, but couldn’t tell. “He thought you might run off and avoid him for a while, if he didn’t keep you here.” Ben winced slightly at the accusation, and Arla raised an eyebrow. Ben turned back to the tea, still holding the flask, before sighing and reattaching it to his belt, and going for a teacup instead.

Arla sat back in her chair again, returning her attention to her bow, knowing he wouldn’t try to slip out. Not for a few hours, at least. Until then… “So, what  _ did  _ you and  _ buir  _ talk about?”

“That is a private matter, Arl’ika.” Ben’s voice was firm, but Arla still giggled, because that did  _ not  _ ease her suspicion that they had done a little more than just  _ talk. _ Ben glanced back and gave her a dark look, to which she only shrugged. Ben sighed again, shaking his head, and Arla smirked as she returned her attention to her bow.

Privately, she hoped that  _ buir  _ was finished with the  _ Jetiise  _ soon. Arla knew it would only be a matter of time before Ben started trying to sneak out of the stronghold, Jaster’s orders or not.

* * *

The rooms they had been given were comfortable, and had a sense of  _ warmth  _ in the Force that Tholme hadn’t been expecting. Someone had lived in the little apartment, not terribly recently, but for long enough to leave a few impressions lingering in the Force of happiness and laughter. A family, Tholme thought, given the two bedrooms. He wondered what had happened to them. The rooms weren’t left bare after their departure, either, tapestries still decorating the walls, though none depicted battles. He wondered if the Mandalorians had switched them out in anticipation of their arrival.

Plo and Knight Billaba had given them some time to settle in and unpack before planning to meet them in their quarters, and Tholme made use of that time to inspect their temporary quarters and sweep for bugs. He found only one small camera, out on the patio and pointed towards the door, more than likely as a security measure rather than an attempt to spy on them. It made Tholme paranoid, wondering if he’d missed something, but the Force seemed to agree with the idea that the Mandalorians truly were on the up-and-up.

When Tholme had finished his sweep, he found Quinlan sitting on the carpet in the sitting room, rubbing his bare hands on his leggings, his eyes glazed. Tholme grimaced, knowing that meant that his Padawan had touched something and picked up an echo, and was now trying to ground himself. He left Quinlan to it, though he opened the bond a bit wider to monitor him; he was just as hazy in his mind as he looked outwardly, though he was aware enough to brush back against Tholme at the contact. Good enough, Tholme decided, and went to sit on the couch, waiting for his fellow Jedi to arrive.

He didn’t have to wait long, and opened the door with a wave of his hand and an admittedly superfluous use of the Force, though he justified it by wanting to keep his eyes on his Padawan.

“Master Tholme,” Knight Billaba greeted him, and Tholme nodded to her. She turned to look at Quinlan and tilted her head slightly. Tholme felt her reach out with the Force to get a sense of him, and then she hummed low in understanding, and retreated.

“He’ll come around soon enough,” Tholme sighed, and she nodded.

“Tholme,” Plo greeted Tholme next, stepping up to Depa’s side. “I brought shig.” He held up a sachet that held some sort of loose-leaf tea, and Tholme hummed.

“Shig?”

“The Mandalorian answer to tea,” Plo said. “I find it rather pleasant, myself. Shall I brew us some?”

“Please,” Tholme said, grateful that Plo had offered. He really should, as the host, but he wanted to make sure Quinlan wasn’t  _ gone  _ for too long. Plo nodded, a ripple of sympathetic understanding pressed against Tholme in the Force, and he smiled at his friend. Plo turned and went to the little kitchen at the back of the suite, and Tholme waved a hand at one of the armchairs. Knight Billaba sat, glancing several more times at Quinlan in concern before letting it go and turning her attention to Tholme.

“How are you finding Mandalore?” Tholme asked, deciding to open with something broad, to see what stood out to her most, and ask his more pointed questions later. The look she gave him, somewhat patient, told him that she knew precisely what he was doing, but she answered the question nonetheless.

“Intriguing,” she said, smiling slightly. “Most everyone in the stronghold is willing to speak to us, and many even approach us themselves. They have been quite… warm, and hospitable. Courteous, in their own way.”

Tholme nodded slowly. “No negative reactions to the presence of Jedi?”

Billaba hummed. “Not that I have personally encountered, no, though I can’t speak to what others might think outside of the stronghold.”

“And Mereel?”

Billaba chuckled. “He is everything and nothing like I expected him to be,” she answered, and Tholme raised an eyebrow at her. “He is clearly a warrior, but he is also one of the gentlest beings I have ever encountered. Though that dichotomy seems to be present in most of the Mandalorians I have met. It shows most when they interact with younglings.”

Tholme hummed in understanding; everyone knew that Mandalorians held no duty above the care and protection of children, much like the Jedi did. That they were softer, kinder, with younglings was not so surprising.

Plo returned with four gently steaming mugs on a tray, and set it down carefully on the table. He handed one to Tholme, another to Billaba, and then picked up one of the edges of his tabards to cover his clawed hand, picked up a third cup, and then gently pressed it into Quinlan’s hands. Tholme smiled as Quinlan slowly stopped rocking, probably paying more attention to the warmth seeping into his hands; that kind of physical stimulus was a good grounding technique. Tholme nodded his thanks to Plo, who nodded back before taking the other armchair.

“I agree with Depa’s assessment,” Plo said, tucking a straw into his glass to be able to drink more easily through his breather. “I have also found them to be gracious hosts. They are very curious about us, but also willing to answer questions in return.”

“What kinds of questions?” Tholme asked, and Plo tipped his head slightly as if to acknowledge that he realized they were coming to the point.

“Any question I have asked has been answered, though I will admit that I was wise enough not to inquire about the finer points of  _ beskar  _ working,” Plo said, and Tholme grunted. One corner of his lip twitched up as Quinlan slowly took one hand off of the mug and placed it over the top, catching the steam. He was coming back down. “But other questions about their culture, and current events, they are happy to answer.”

“And what of Kenobi?” Tholme asked directly, and Plo hummed, settling back into his chair and sipping at his shig rather pointedly. Tholme sighed and took a sip of his own. It was strange, but not unpleasant, almost reminiscent of pepper tea, but more… soothing. Yet it felt somewhat energizing.

“The consensus seems to be that he was a Jedi, once,” Billaba said. “It seems to be a sort of… open secret.”

“They know, and just ignore it?” Tholme said a bit ruefully. He had wondered how a former-Jedi,  _ if  _ that was what Ben Kenobi was, had been able to gain the favor of Mandalorians, even moderate, rational Mandalorians as these people seemed to be. But if they just… pretended he hadn’t been, that would explain it, but that was an extremely discomforting level of denial.

“Yes, and no,” Plo rumbled. “Depa mentioned in her initial report, which I have had the chance to read over, that Ben Kenobi attempted to explain the concept of  _ cin vhetin.  _ I do have some understanding of it, but explaining it is… difficult. Essentially, all that matters after one swears to the  _ Resol’nare,  _ declares their allegiance to the  _ Mand’alor,  _ and obtains their  _ beskar’gam  _ is that they are a loyal Mandalorian. Their past still exists, of course, but it no longer holds the weight it might have before. They do not view him as a Jedi, but as a Mandalorian.”

Tholme tilted his head slightly. “What do they think of Obi-Wan?”

“They acknowledge him as a Mandalorian Jedi,” Billaba answered. “The first since Tarre Vizsla.”

“It doesn’t bother them, that he’s with the Order, and not here on Mandalore?”

“No,” Plo answered. “He is clearly missed, but I would not say that they disapprove.” Tholme nodded; that, at least, was promising. He wondered if the positive feelings regarding the Order extended past the walls of the stronghold, and if he would be allowed into the city proper, or kept within the compound. He could ask later, he supposed, after feeling out the lay of the land.

Quinlan finally blinked, his eyes clearing and his vision coming back into focus, and he offered Tholme a weak smile before looking down at the mug he was still holding, and taking a sip. He blinked again, and then took another sip.

“Strong echo?” Tholme asked, and Quinlan nodded. “Anything bad?”

“Not really,” Quinlan said slowly. “There was a kid staying here, with their  _ buir.  _ The kid had a nightmare, a bad one, but their  _ buir  _ was there for them.” He shrugged. “They just… The feelings were strong.”

Tholme nodded his acceptance, and, deeming Quinlan well enough, he turned his full attention to the task at hand. Pulling out his datapad to take notes, he said, “Tell me everything you've heard about Ben Kenobi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the explanation for why Arla wasn't there to greet Tholme and Quin. I mostly needed an excuse for Arla and Quin not to meet yet, because when they do, the chaos is going to be beautiful, LOL.
> 
> Bit of a slow chapter, but I wanted to get a little more Tholme in before we start the investigation into Ben in earnest next chapter. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify a little more about the pairings listed in the tags because I forgot to do that before: I put Obi-Wan/Jaster because the Archive doesn't really recognize Ben Kenobi. They are definitely two different people in this universe, and it's only going to be Ben/Jaster. :)
> 
> Thank you as always for all of your amazing comments! I really appreciate all of you letting me know you're liking the story. :D

Ben went back to Jaster’s rooms, eventually, when Arla’s pointed needling became a bit much to bear, ignoring her smirk as he went. He had, at least, thought to bring his datapad with him the night before, and occupied himself reading various Council reports. He held no  _ official  _ position on Jaster’s Council, but everyone knew that he acted as an advisor, and they’d all stopped protesting several years ago when he joined their sessions. The reports were blessedly dull, for the most part: there was a brief on the infrastructure repairs needed in Ve’liik, on Concordia; a report that seventeen  _ Haat’ade  _ were being rotated off-duty due to pregnancies, and another twenty-seven had just graduated and were ready to join their squads; the third report was from the ships they’d sent out to the upper border, looking for any sign of piracy or other unusual activity, though they’d found nothing, so far. The reports from those along the Hydian Way had yet to come in. Ben was grateful for the lack of casualty reports.

The work was rather tedious, but it successfully kept his mind occupied, and away from dwelling on the conversation to come. Ben had no idea how much time had passed when the door opened, and he looked up as Jaster entered.

“How was it?” Ben asked lightly, and Jaster shrugged one shoulder, moving towards the armor rack to set his  _ buy’ce  _ and cape on it, pausing for a moment before stripping off his vambraces and gloves as well. Only then did he move to join Ben, retaking his position in the same armchair he’d taken the night before.

“It was fine,” Jaster finally answered, though he looked worried, and Ben frowned. Jaster sighed and shook his head. “It was  _ fine,  _ Ben. They were polite, no one drew any weapons or punched anyone else, and they’re settled into their rooms. I’m sure the other  _ Jetiise  _ are already there by now.” Ben raised an eyebrow.

“Then why do you seem troubled?”

Jaster gave him a flat look. “Just how drunk were you last night? You can’t have forgotten what you told me.”

Ben hummed. “ _ Nayc. _ ”

They lapsed into silence, Jaster simply studying him for a long moment. Ben couldn’t quite bring himself to look away, though Jaster’s expression was rather difficult to parse, beyond that tinge of  _ concern. _

Finally, Jaster broke the silence. “I believe you.”

“So you said last night,” Ben answered, allowing a little relieved smile to cross his face. Jaster snorted.

“I figured it would mean more if I said it again sober,” Jaster said dryly, and Ben huffed a laugh.

“A fair point.”

“Before you passed out—” Ben grimaced at the reminder, knowing he’d been a bit  _ too  _ indulgent if he hadn’t even remembered to purge the alcohol until Jaster had woken him up to go to bed properly. Jaster paused to smirk at him, and Ben’s grimace became a glower that only served to make Jaster’s smirk grow wider, before slowly fading away. Ben tensed. “You said you needed help. What do you need?”

“I would hope that you won’t hold this against the Order,” Ben began slowly, and Jaster frowned at that ominous beginning, “but I do believe that while the accord the Order hopes to reach with you  _ is  _ real, I also believe Tholme and Quinlan were chosen specifically to investigate me.”

“Because they’re  _ Jetii’prudiise?  _ That means they’re investigators,  _ ‘lek? _ ” Jaster asked slowly, and Ben nodded. “And they feel a need to investigate you because they believe you were a  _ Jetii’ba’ji,  _ but they have no record of you.” Ben simply nodded again, and Jaster frowned at him before scrubbing a hand over his face. “ _ Osik. _ ”

“I have very few options,” Ben said grimly. “I cannot lie to them now, not when it could impact their trust in me later, when it is time to reveal the truth to them. But I cannot simply refuse to cooperate with an investigation—”

“They have no legal authority here,” Jaster pointed out, and Ben sighed.

“ _ Nayc.  _ But I must accommodate them as much as I can in any case,” Ben said, and Jaster opened his mouth to protest, but he continued before Jaster could interject. “For Obi-Wan.” Jaster’s mouth snapped shut, and he frowned thunderously, clearly mulling that over. Ben normally couldn’t feel much from Jaster in the Force, the man’s mind too well-disciplined for much to slip through his natural shields, but now, he could feel sparks of fiery  _ anger  _ leaking into the Force around them.

“They would stoop to using Ob’ika against you?” Jaster growled, and Ben shook his head, rather alarmed by that misunderstanding.

“ _ Nayc.  _ They would never do such a thing,” Ben said firmly. “But we all realize that Obi-Wan already receives… attention for his Mandalorian culture. If they harbor any suspicion that I’ve Fallen, they may look more critically at  _ him. _ ”

Jaster was quiet for another moment, thinking that over, and then he nodded slowly. “So you just need to prove to them that you’re not a  _ Dar’jetii,  _ and everything will be fine for now?”

“Everything will be… manageable, for now, if they can be convinced of that, yes,” Ben said.

“And how could that be done?”

Ben grimaced again. “A joint meditation would likely suffice, but I have a number of concerns about that. I was once very close to these particular  _ Jetiise.  _ Close enough to have bonds with them; all of them except for Tholme.” He shuddered at the phantom pain of feeling almost all of those bonds  _ snap,  _ simultaneous to all of the other lights winking out across the galaxy, everything rife with the oily, choking cold of the Dark Side—

Ben forced himself to breathe, and then continued before Jaster could call him on the aborted panic attack. “If we were to share a joint meditation, I worry that those bonds might be reestablished, which would require explanations I cannot yet give them. Not to mention the possibility of them catching a stray thought or an impression of a memory once we lower some of our shields to meditate together.”

The frown on Jaster’s face was more frustrated than anything, and it was a particular look he sometimes got when Ben tried to explain something about the Force that he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Do you have any other options?”

“A few, but none of them are very good either,” Ben admitted, and Jaster sighed, waving a hand to prompt him to explain. “I could show them my ‘saber. They would be able to sense the crystals inside, and there is a very particular feeling to a crystal that has been Bled, and then healed. That can only be done by one who is within the Light. But giving them my lightsaber would also raise questions I cannot answer.” He hesitated, and Jaster raised an eyebrow. Ben sighed. “The third option is to open a Jedi holocron.”

“Such as Tarre Vizsla’s?” Jaster asked, and Ben shrugged.

“That would suffice.”

Jaster hummed. “I’m guessing that would also raise questions you can’t answer yet?” Ben nodded, and Jaster sighed. “I got the preliminary scope from the proposal the  _ Jetiise  _ drafted on the way here. They asked for access to that holocron in particular.”

Ben blinked at him. “How did they know we have it?”

Jaster shrugged. “I’m not sure. I made the records of its contents public, so anyone registered to access the ‘Net Archive could see it. Any one of them could have said something, or Ob’ika could have told them.”

That much was true, Ben supposed, but he had a feeling it hadn’t been Obi-Wan. He had… complicated thoughts about Tarre Vizsla. Understandably so, Ben thought, given how often he was compared to the ancient  _ Jetii’Manda. _

“Why can’t you tell them the truth now?” Jaster asked, and Ben blinked at him, and then frowned.

“I told you what happened, last time,” he murmured. “In summary, at least. But after my Knighting, even when they had evidence and testimony of the Sith’s return, when they had the boy they felt to be the Chosen One in their Temple, they still refused to believe they had returned. I have less proof now than I did before. They have no reason to believe me.”

Jaster hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. “We don’t have many choices, do we?”

“ _ Nayc. _ ”

Jaster nodded. “Well, we’ll keep those in mind. We’re hosting the  _ Jetiise  _ for dinner tonight. I’ll leave it to you whether you want to come or not.” Ben nodded back, grateful for that. He knew he couldn’t simply avoid them; he had already tried that, and been thoroughly lured out of hiding. But after recounting all of that the night before… Perhaps it would be best to get some distance, give himself time to prepare and plan. But, then again, it may be better to meet with them first, to try to divine the tack they would take with this investigation.

“Does Venn know?” Jaster’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he shook his head.

“ _ Nayc, _ ” Ben answered. “Well, in a way. I have told her almost everything about my past, either couched in terms of a nebulous past with the Order before coming here, or as visions that never came to be.” Jaster nodded slowly.

“ _ Ni suvari.  _ This… doesn’t change anything, you know,” Jaster said, and Ben blinked at him. “I just wanted you to know that. I’ve always known you and Obi-Wan were the same fundamentally, but I long ago came to see you as your own people. This is an insane adjustment to what I thought I knew, but it doesn’t change who  _ you  _ are to  _ us.  _ To me.”

Ben flushed, but maintained eye contact with him, and smiled. “ _ Vor entye. _ ”

“ _ N’entye.  _ One more thing, Ben,” Jaster murmured. “You did the best you could have with the knowledge and resources you had at the time.” Ben frowned at that, opening his mouth to argue, but Jaster held up a hand to stay him. “I know you feel guilty for all of it. I could tell in the way you spoke. But  _ you  _ made the best choices you could in a series of impossible situations. Hels, a tenth of what you went through could have broken other people. It  _ has  _ broken other people. The fact that you lived through all of that, fulfilled your duty, and then looked at the prospect of having to watch your own, younger self go through the same  _ osik,  _ and you came up swinging…  _ Mandokar.  _ That’s what you are, Ben.”

He found he had nothing to say to that, and settled for giving Jaster a slightly misty-eyed smile in thanks. Jaster tipped his head.

“We should recon,” Jaster said, shoving them back into their previous line of conversation rather abruptly, but Ben was grateful for the change in topics. “Find out what the  _ Jetiise  _ already know about you, or at least how they’re planning to go about the investigation.”

Ben nodded his agreement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jaster sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, then?” Ben nodded slowly, and Jaster nodded back, rising from his chair. “I have to meet with Adonai again before he leaves.” Jaster eyed him critically, and then sighed again. “Get some more sleep, or meditate, or go punch something. Just… relax, for a while. You look like you’re going to stab someone if they look at you wrong.” Jaster waved a hand at him. “There’s murder in your eyes, Ben.”

Ben huffed, rolling his eyes, and Jaster grinned and shrugged in return before going to retrieve the rest of his  _ beskar’gam.  _ Ben watched him go, mulling over Jaster’s suggestions, and decided that meditation would not go amiss. Sighing softly, he slipped off the couch and onto his knees on the thick carpet, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He slowed his breathing, and reached for the Force.

_ Not yet,  _ the Force whispered immediately.  _ Not now. _

Ben gritted his teeth; he realized that for himself already, thank you very much. The Force felt almost grumpy at that.

_ Trust,  _ it said.  _ Help. _

Ben scowled and opened his eyes. It was clear meditation wasn’t going to help, not if the Force was going to insist on being so befuddling and contradictory. Some things, he knew, were not meant to be known or understood until the Force willed it so, and deigned to reveal its secrets, but the fact that Ben  _ knew  _ that did not make it any less frustrating.

Perhaps Arla was still around. She was always willing to indulge him in a spar. Nodding to himself, Ben abandoned his attempt at meditation, and went to retrieve the rest of his own _beskar'gam._

* * *

“It was the will of the Force.” Mace was grateful that he was able to keep a straight face while saying that, but he knew that if anyone ever mentioned this to Qui-Gon, his friend would be insufferable. Qui-Gon would never let him forget it.

“The  _ Force  _ doesn’t want us to investigate Ben Kenobi?” Yarael sniffed, and Mace nodded.

“I’d never experienced anything like it,” Mace said. “When I intended to ask Initiate Kenobi about his father, the Force… took control of my words, and I said something completely different instead.” There was contemplative quiet at that, and Mace gave them a moment to absorb it before continuing. “The Force also gave me one message: ‘You are not ready.’” There were several flares of alarm at that, and Mace nodded grimly. “I can only conclude that the Force deems us ‘not ready’ to learn Ben Kenobi’s secrets.”

“Meditate on this, we all must,” Yoda declared.

“We’ve already dispatched a team to Mandalore for this purpose,” Ki-Adi pointed out. “I, for one, vote that we go ahead with our investigation. If it is truly the will of the Force that we not learn the truth yet, then they will learn nothing.”

There was a general sense of agreement, and Mace nodded again in tacit agreement. The Force whispered that they wouldn’t find the answers they sought,  _ not yet,  _ and Mace stifled a sigh.

“Very well. But I must insist that we leave Initiate Kenobi out of this,” Mace said firmly.

“Agree, I do,” Yaddle said. She had been one of the few to vote against involving the boy. “Perhaps intervene, the Force did, because it does not want us to know. But perhaps intervene, it did, because asking  _ Initiate Kenobi  _ such questions, we should not be.” It was a rebuke, and Yoda, the only other vote against asking Initiate Kenobi (though Mace knew Plo would also have voted no if he had been present), tapped his stick on the ground to punctuate her statement.

A rather contrite agreement rippled in the Force, and Mace nodded sharply. “Very well. Are there any other matters to address?” That question was met by weary negatives. “Thank the Force. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

The other Councilors began standing and leaving at a sedate pace, and Mace reached out to Yan in the Force, meeting his eyes when the man turned to him and silently asked him to stay. Yan nodded slowly and watched the others file out, until only Yoda was left in the room with them. He peered at Mace, and then at Yan, and then shook his head, his ears drooping. Wordlessly, he turned and hobbled from the room, looking every one of his eight-hundred plus years.

Once the door had shut behind him, Mace turned back to Yan, the two of them standing a few feet away from each other in the middle of the Chamber. Mace tucked his hands into his sleeves, and Yan’s eyebrow ticked up ever so slightly as he tracked the movement.

“We haven’t had a chance to speak about Komari’s training,” Mace said, and Yan nodded slowly.

“She tells me you are still on the first meditation,” Yan said, sounding entirely unsurprised. Though Yan would likely have the right mindset for the Vapaad, he was too committed to Makashi to wish to learn it. Still, he knew the theory: the first few steps of learning the Vapaad were meditations. The first was the most difficult, and took the longest: the  _ knowing  _ meditation. Vapaad required the user to know themselves completely, faults and foibles as well as strengths, because one had to know their limits. They needed to know how  _ much  _ Darkness they could channel before they slipped away from the Light, how close they could come to that edge.

Komari was having a very difficult time with this particular meditation. Not only did she not know her limits (or she may simply be refusing to acknowledge them, stubborn as she was), there was such  _ denial  _ in her. But Mace had seen it, and what she pretended did not exist was plain to him.

“I’ve determined that Komari is struggling with attachment,” Mace said slowly, choosing his words carefully, and Yan frowned at him. “She is struggling with one attachment in particular.”

“To whom?” Yan asked. “Or what?”

Mace bit back a grimace, clenching his jaw slightly before answering. “Have you ever noticed that your Padawan has no companions her own age?” Yan’s frown grew more pronounced, and Mace knew that was confirmation that he had. He shook his head. “We both know how common it is for Padawans to have… phases. A brief crush on their Master during puberty is… not unexpected. But Komari’s infatuation with you runs far deeper than that. I fear that Knighting her, separating her from you, could lead to disastrous consequences.”

Yan flinched, and Mace did grimace, then. He hadn’t needed to say that he feared Komari would Fall; Yan heard it regardless.

“You sensed this in your meditations with her?” he asked sharply, and Mace nodded.

“I did.”

Yan eyed him for a long moment, and then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Separate you,” Mace answered immediately, and Yan opened his mouth to protest, but Mace held up a hand. “Not officially. Breaking your bond at this stage would do far more harm than good. We should begin slowly. Give her time in the Temple without you to develop bonds with her agemates. We can find a mission for you, something that will last a few months at a time, and hold her back here for her class requirements. It is an acceptable excuse that I believe she wouldn’t question too much.”

Yan mulled that over for a long moment, and then nodded sharply. “Very well. I will ask Yoda if he will take over her training for that time.”

Mace hummed. “If that is your wish, but I had intended to offer to do so myself. Between the excuse of her classes, and the fact that staying behind will allow her to continue training in the Vapaad with me, she would view this as a positive step overall.”

Yan nodded slowly. “I believe you are correct. Thank you, Mace.” He nodded.

“It takes a village, Yan. We’ll help her find her path.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about Mace teaching Komari Vapaad, LOL.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, yet another chapter where I didn't get to thing I wanted to because other characters wanted "just a second" of my attention... XD I swear we'll get to dinner next chapter!
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your comments and kudos! :D I'm serious, I'm over the moon about them. It's really nice to know I'm not just shouting these chapters out into the void, LOL.

There were still several hours left before they would be expected for dinner, and Quinlan had gotten permission to explore the stronghold, under strict orders from Master Tholme to obey the Mandalorians’ orders in turn, not to touch anything without his gloves on, and to call for Tholme immediately if he ran into any trouble. Though, honestly, Quinlan couldn’t picture himself getting into  _ too  _ much trouble here.

This was where Obi-Wan had come from, after all, and he was honestly the  _ kindest  _ person Quinlan had ever met, and he’d grown up surrounded by other Jedi, so that was saying something. And it didn’t hurt his assessment that Master Koon and Knight Billaba had nothing but good things to say in their reports about how they’d been treated so far during their stay.

Quinlan had absolutely no fear as he scampered through the hallways, though he  _ did  _ wish he could read the Mando’a alphabet. He spoke it well enough, after spending so much time with Obi-Wan, but reading it was a different beast. There were signs hung up here and there, giving directions to different points of the stronghold, which seemed to be both a sort of communal home and a military installation. It was a very Mandalorian feeling.

Since he couldn’t follow the signs, Quinlan let the Force lead him, lazily prompting him to turn down this hallway, then that one, until he passed through a set of double doors and into a garden. It was large, with winding pathways, and exactly like Obi-Wan had described it. When he’d first gone to the Temple, Obi-Wan had spent as much time as possible in the Room of a Thousand Fountains because it had reminded him of these gardens—

“ _ Su cuy’gar, ad. _ ” Quinlan turned at the voice, looking at the Mandalorian in front of him: curly dark hair, tanned skin, red and gold paint on their  _ beskar’gam,  _ though they were holding their  _ buy’ce  _ under one arm, and some sort of strange looking bow in the other hand.

“ _ Su’cuy. Ner gai  _ Quinlan.  _ Tion’gar gai? _ ” he asked, and the Mandalorian tilted their head.

“Arla, Clan Fett, House Mereel. She/her/hers. You’re one of Obi-Wan’s friends, aren’t you?” she asked, and Quinlan nodded. She smiled at him. “Where’s your  _ Ba’ji? _ ”

“He’s still in our rooms. He wanted to talk to the others, and I… might have gotten bored,” Quinlan said. Arla snickered.

“If you’re bored, I can help with that,” she offered, and Quinlan tilted his head. She nodded back to the door he’d just come through. “I was about to head in and play some cards before dinner. Want to come with me?”

“Sure,” Quinlan agreed, smiling at her. “ _ Vor’e.  _ If I had to sit there and listen to them argue about protocol for any longer, I think I would’ve gone crazy.”

Arla laughed again, shaking her head. “That’s how I feel, too, when my  _ buir  _ and  _ vod’ika  _ are talking politics.” She made a face, her nose scrunching, and it was Quinlan’s turn to snicker. “Come on.”

She led Quinlan back inside, helpfully translating the signs for him and giving him a general rundown of the stronghold’s layout as they went. Eventually, they reached one of the rooms simply marked “recreation” in Mando’a; the room was large and bright, the walls painted with murals and symbols in bright colors, and there were several tables already full of Mandalorians. At the table closest to the door, there were several engaged in arm wrestling, and only the spectators looked up and nodded to Arla, gazes lingering only briefly on Quinlan as they passed them. Arla led him to a table near the back where a game of cards was already in progress and pulled out an empty chair for him.

“ _ Su’cuy,  _ Arla,” one of them greeted her, gaze flicking from their cards to the two of them. “ _ Tion'cuy? _ ”

“Quinlan Vos,” he answered for himself. “He/him/his.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Silas, Clan Jeban, House Mereel. He/him/his.”

“Deal us in next round,” Arla said, setting her  _ buy’ce  _ and bow down on another empty chair before turning to Quinlan. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

Arla nodded. “No  _ netra’gal  _ or  _ tihaar  _ for you, then. Sorry,  _ Jeti’ika. _ ” Quinlan just waved a hand, knowing that Tholme would be very,  _ very  _ upset with him if he drank without his supervision. Arla went over to what looked like a caff station in one corner and began busying herself making a few drinks. Quinlan turned his attention back to the other players, who introduced themselves as Silas, Myles, Lorn, and Khivada. That last name caught his attention, and he turned to the Twi’lek.

“You came to the Temple, didn’t you?” Quinlan asked, and Khivada nodded before tossing what looked like some sort of hard candy into the pot. They were betting with everything  _ but  _ credits, it looked like: there were candies, some sort of piece of long, braided wire, and a few datachips.

“ _‘Lek._ My _buir_ and I were on Coruscanta for a while, staying in Little Keldabe with my _ba’vodu,_ and we both wanted to see Ob’ika again. Sorry, _ba’vodu_ means—”

“Your  _ buir’s vod, _ ” Quinlan filled in, waving a hand. “Ob’ika talks to himself in Mando’a enough that I eventually learned. Can’t read it, but I can speak it.” The Mandalorians all glanced at him at that, looking tentatively pleased, and Quinlan smiled back. “So what’d you think of the Temple?”

Khivada hummed, watching Silas take his turn before answering. “It was strange, but not in the ways I’d expected. It almost felt like the stronghold here, only more…”

“Peaceful?” Quinlan suggested, and Khivada nodded slowly, his lekku swaying with the movement.

“ _ ‘Lek. _ ”

Quinlan nodded back. “Makes sense. Arla was telling me some about the stronghold, but we didn’t get a chance to talk about Keldabe. Is it anything like Little Keldabe?”

“You’ve been?” Lorn asked. Quinlan shrugged.

“A few times,” he admitted, and then gave them a lopsided smile. “Mostly for Obi-Wan, actually. I used to sneak out and get him peppers and spices for his birthday.” There was snickering around the table at that, though Silas was giving him a rather speculative look. Guessing that he already knew why, Quinlan added, “Not that I really told anyone I was a Jedi when I went. But since I speak Mando’a, nobody seemed to mind me coming around much.” He shrugged, and Silas hummed and nodded.

Arla returned with two cups, one a steaming mug that she set before Quinlan and the other a tall glass full of dark, foamy liquid. Quinlan accepted his mug and hummed happily; he’d liked the shig that Master Plo had made for them earlier.

“ _ Vor’e.  _ What’s that?” Quinlan asked, waving a hand at her drink as she sat and took a long sip.

“This,” she said, setting it on the table more than an arm’s length away from him, “is  _ netra’gal,  _ and it’s not for you.” Quinlan rolled his eyes, and then decided to stick out his tongue, for good measure, which startled a bark of laughter out of her. “ _ Ade  _ are the same everywhere, I guess,  _ Jetiise  _ or not.” She shook her head and settled back into her seat to wait out the rest of the round until they could be dealt in.

Quinlan watched them play the round, debating taking off his gloves to make the game easier before deciding not to. The impression he’d gotten from the room he was staying in, caught up in the children’s book that was still sitting on the bedside table—that he’d only touched to move it, not even  _ trying  _ to pick up an echo—had been so strong. He didn’t know if that was because another Force-sensitive had left that imprint, because that always made them more potent, of if it was just because of how  _ passionate  _ Mandalorians were, how deeply they felt everything, but he had a feeling that playing cards was not the way he wanted to find out. Especially not if they wanted to keep his psychometry a secret. Who knew when it could come in handy, finding out the secrets the Mandalorians wanted to keep from them?

“Arla?” he said, and she hummed. “The rooms you put us in… Who stayed there before?”

Arla turned to him, raising an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Why?”

“They left… impressions behind,” Quinlan said. “In the Force.”

“Huh,” Arla said, shrugging. “Well, that was where  _ ba’vodu  _ Ben and Obi-Wan stayed for a while, before Ben moved into his own house.”

“Oh,” Quinlan breathed. As soon as he got back, he needed to have Tholme let him into the other bedroom. He needed to touch  _ everything.  _ This could be a neat solution to their problem, if he found enough echoes left behind—

“Speaking of Ben,” Silas said, leaning forward and resting one arm on the table, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, “I heard something…  _ interesting  _ this morning.” He pinned his gaze to Arla. “Is it true?”

“Depends on what you heard,” Arla said easily.

“More than a few  _ Haat’ade  _ saw him headed for the family wing last night,” Silas continued, smirking. “But he wasn’t going to  _ his  _ room. Chatter says he went into the  _ ‘Alor’s  _ room, and didn’t come out until this morning.” Quinlan blinked at that. Was he implying that  _ Obi-Wan’s dad  _ was kriffing the  _ Mand’alor? _

... _ kriff.  _ That could put a serious wrench into their investigation. They were only just starting to get back on decent terms with Mandalore. The Order couldn’t afford to piss off the  _ Mand’alor,  _ and if he found out they were here more for Ben Kenobi than the agreement… Double kriff.

“Well, then, you heard right,” Arla said, looking smug. Khivada shook his head, groaning softly, while Silas laughed at him. Myles looked stunned.

“Wow,” he said. “I mean,  _ finally,  _ though, right?”

“What do you mean, ‘finally?’” Quinlan asked slowly, and Myles and Silas gave him slightly panicked looks. Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Yes, I get it, they’re finally fripping.” Myles and Arla laughed at that, but Silas and Khivada looked torn between disapproving and concerned. Lorn, as he had been, sat there with an inscrutable expression, not quite glaring down at the cards in his hand. “Have they been flirting insufferably forever without doing anything about it?”

“Since Kenobi  _ got here, _ ” Myles groaned. “Well, practically. Since his  _ cin vhetin,  _ at least.” The others nodded their agreement, all wearing looks of exasperation, even Lorn, and Arla huffed.

“Just for the record,” she drawled, “ _ buir  _ claimed they only ‘talked.’ Ben wouldn’t admit to anything, either.”

Khivada snorted. “Next you’ll tell me that strills can fly.”

Arla shrugged in return. “I’m just saying we don’t have confirmation yet. But… I’ll tell you what. I have a holo you might want to see. I’ll wager that as my ante.”

Lorn narrowed his eyes at her, gaze flicking briefly to Quinlan, and Arla raised an eyebrow. “Nothing indecent?”

“Of course not,” Arla huffed. “But it  _ was  _ enough to make Jango stare into space for an hour, muttering to himself about how ‘there’s not enough caff in the world to deal with this.’” Lorn tilted his head slightly.

“We’ll take that bet,” Myles said, nodding eagerly. Quinlan tilted his head; he didn’t really have anything to bet, other than… He grinned.

“I have a couple of stories about Obi-Wan I’ll wager,” Quinlan offered, and that acceptance was just as eager as Arla’s offer. The others turned back to their current game, now taking their turns far faster than they had before, likely eager to get to the end of the next pot. Quinlan turned to Arla and smirked, and she winked at him.

Quinlan had a good feeling about her, he decided, and settled into his seat to drink his shig and wait for their next round.

* * *

Adonai wasn’t alone in Jaster’s office, where he’d told his friend to wait. Jaster entered and pulled off his  _ buy’ce  _ as he rounded the desk, raising an eyebrow at Adonai, who simply gave him a grim look in return. Jaster frowned and turned his attention briefly to the other two. He recognized them both, one being Adonai’s younger  _ ad,  _ Bo-Katan, and the other Ursa Wren. All three pressed their fists across their chests and bowed their heads. Jaster nodded to them and sat down, resting his  _ buy’ce  _ on the table.

“Adonai,” Jaster greeted him levelly. “Lady Bo-Katan. Lady Wren.”

“ _ Mand’alor, _ ” Adonai returned, sounding just as grim as he looked. “I’m afraid I’m here to present a petition on behalf of Lady Wren.”

Jaster frowned at that, turning to study Ursa. She looked nervous, but determined, though that made sense. Normally, petitions to the  _ Mand’alor  _ were made with the leader of one’s own Clan or House representing them. For Adonai to be here, rather than Ursa’s Clan leader, her  _ buir,  _ or Kes Vizsla, the widow of Tor and the head of House Vizsla… That was not a good sign. Normally, if the Clan or House leader refused to take a  _ Mando’ad _ ’s petition to the  _ Mand’alor,  _ they would be Challenged, if it meant enough to the  _ Mando’ad  _ pushing for the petition. But Ursa was an  _ adiik,  _ yet, and therefore not yet eligible to make such a Challenge.

The fact that a member of House Vizsla had gone to the head of House  _ Kryze  _ for help… Well, that meant Jaster was probably in for a headache.

“And what petition is this?” Jaster asked, keeping his voice even. Adonai nodded to Ursa; he was there to sponsor her petition, but it was hers to present.

Ursa didn’t squirm, and she met Jaster’s gaze, but she did flush, her tanned cheeks turning even darker. She took a deep, shaky breath before speaking. “Something has to be done for Pre Vizsla.”

Jaster hummed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and folding his hands together. He’d heard rumors aplenty about Pre Vizsla, and what his Clan was doing with him. He was worried that they were continuing their  _ Kyr’tsad  _ indoctrination tactics, but since no one had ever stepped forward with a real claim or evidence, there was nothing he could do. Not without upsetting the peace they’d obtained.

But with a member of their House coming forward to lodge a formal petition… He could work with this. The timing was terrible, but Jaster had never had that sort of luck. He would have to take what he could get when it came to House Vizsla.

“What are your concerns, Lady Wren?” Jaster asked formally.

“Pre is… He has the  _ ka’ra, _ ” Ursa said, and Jaster frowned. He hadn’t known that. “Like the  _ Jetiise,  _ and Kenobi.” Jaster nodded. “His  _ aliit  _ are… hurting him. I don’t think they  _ mean  _ to, but he’s been… different. Not like himself.”

“What have they been doing to him?” Jaster asked, barely managing to keep his budding anger out of his voice. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, he knew that, but it was all too easy to assume the worst of the Vizslas.

“They cut him off from it whenever he uses it,” Ursa said. “At first it was just with  _ beskar’gam _ —real  _ beskar beskar’gam _ —since that quiets the  _ ka’ra.  _ But it doesn’t get rid of it, and they eventually found some old binders, from their own armory.” Jaster grimaced at that, realizing that House and Clan Vizsla had fought in the wars against the  _ Jetiise.  _ He knew exactly why they would have had Force-suppressing binders in their armory. “Since they started using them, Pre is… He gets so  _ angry,  _ all the time, and he looks like he’s… missing part of himself.”

“I see,” Jaster murmured, and Ursa finally cracked, shifting her weight in her seat and looking away from him for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“ _ Gedet'ye, Mand’alor, _ ” she said. “He’s my friend, and… there has to be another way to help him. The  _ Jetiise  _ told us that they would help, and Pre wouldn’t even have to go to their Temple. He wouldn’t have to be a  _ Jetii.  _ I think they could make him better, but his  _ aliit  _ would never let them help.”

They wouldn’t, Jaster agreed with that much. He nodded slowly. “You spoke to the  _ Jetiise  _ about this?”

“We didn’t say much,” Bo-Katan jumped in to assure him, and Jaster knew at that moment that it had been her idea to ask the _Jetiise._ And they probably hadn’t gone to Ben because they viewed him as more _Mando’ad_ than _Jetii,_ and likely would have been able to put the pieces together and figure out who they might be talking about. Clever of them, really. “We didn’t tell him who we were talking about, or what was going on.”

“I see,” Jaster repeated. “ _ Vor entye,  _ Lady Wren, for bringing this to me. Going against the wishes of your Clan and House is never easy, and you should be proud of your courage.” She flushed again, but nodded and smiled ever-so-slightly. “I will do all that I can for him.”

Ursa slumped in relief. “ _ Vor entye, ner Mand’alor. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to chinae for guessing that it was Obi-Wan and Ben who used to stay in the rooms Quin and Tholme are in! And poor Jaster... Ben clearly didn't warn him about Quinlan's psychometry, so he just thought it would be kind of nice to put them in the same suite.
> 
> ...oops. ;)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi... So I know I promised we'd get to the dinner this chapter, but then this OTHER character wanted my attention... I just wanted to show a semi-outsider Mandalorian's POV on Ben, the prospect of Ben/Jaster happening, and the former Death Watch Mandalorians. :)
> 
> Another note on the Ben/Jaster part of this story: there's going to be a sort of "getting together" arc for them because there needs to be, lol, both because I need to show that transition, and because that's a pairing with social and political consequences that need to be addressed. But once that part is over, it really won't be a main focus of the story.
> 
> Anyway, we really will get to the dinner next chapter, I really really promise this time! XD
> 
> As always, so much love to everyone for all of your comments and kudos! :D

Jorin had served as  _ Goran be Mereel  _ for over twenty years. It had been an honor to be asked to serve his  _ vod’ad,  _ after Jaster became  _ Mand’alor,  _ as the stronghold’s  _ goran,  _ but not a surprise. Neither was Jaster’s presence in his forge today, not after the rumors Jorin had heard.

Jorin was in the middle of examining the edge he’d put onto the  _ beskad  _ he’d just finished when Jaster entered. It was a fine blade, one of his best works. Nothing less would do, of course, for the  _ ven’riduur  _ of his  _ vod’ad. _

Jaster had only had one  _ buir,  _ Jorin’s  _ vod’ika.  _ She had never found anyone she wanted to claim as her  _ riduur,  _ and when a dalliance with another  _ verd  _ had left her pregnant with Jaster, she had not even told him he was a  _ buir.  _ Cruel, on her part, Jorin thought, but the man had died long ago, fallen in some forgotten battle, and most of his  _ aliit  _ with him. Jorin had never told Jaster; even when he’d been old enough to understand that there must have been a second person involved in his conception, Jaster had never asked who his other  _ buir  _ was. He seemed to feel it was unimportant, just as Jenet, his only  _ buir, _ had.

Jaster had taken after her. In his own youth, he’d had a few brief romances, more for fun and companionship than with any intent of courting. When he’d turned thirty and was still single, Jorin had thought he would finish his days out without a partner.

And then Ben Kenobi had come to them.

When he’d arrived, all that they knew of Ben Kenobi was that he was a former- _ Jetii  _ who had lost his  _ aliit,  _ all of them except for a clone of himself whom he had saved from being killed by his so-called “ _ buir. _ ” Compassion for Ben had come instantly; trust in Ben, however, had taken far longer.

It didn’t hurt that Ben was cooperative with the  _ baar’ur’e,  _ at least during his time in the program (though getting him to see them now was usually an exercise in frustration, unless Jaster made it a direct order that he report to medical), and he had come to them with a working knowledge of Mando’a. Whoever had taught him their language, though, had left out much of the cultural education, and once he was cleared to leave the medical ward so long as he stayed within the stronghold, Ben had spent much time with Jorin, filling in the gaps. Over time, Jorin had come first to like him, and then to trust him.

But only to an extent. He was hiding something, anyone who spent enough time with him realized that, and it was difficult to trust someone you knew was keeping secrets from you in turn. But they all agreed that Ben Kenobi genuinely  _ wanted  _ to be there, in Keldabe, in the stronghold, and to become one of them—and not just  _ Mando’ad,  _ he wanted specifically to become a  _ Haat’ad.  _ He believed in the Codex, and would follow Jaster to the ends of the galaxy. That had been enough to gain their acceptance, over time.

And Jorin was not the only one to come to like Ben Kenobi. Jorin was observant, and as all _goran’e_ did, he collected information. He both saw and heard about how Jaster’s speculative looks became fond, how he sought Ben out whenever he had downtime, how he drew the man into his circle of advisors, though his Council had managed to convince him not to give Ben a position on the Council proper, at least not at first. Not when those _Mando’ade_ who were former- _Kyr’tsad_ were still so tense; they clung far more closely to the old anger at the _Jetiise,_ and had made no secret of the fact that they detested Ben. They tolerated him, because he had sworn the _Resol’nare_ and upheld its tenets, but appointing him to the _Mand’alor’s_ Council would have been too likely to spark more violence, especially in those early days.

Jaster knew better than to interrupt a  _ goran  _ at work,  _ Mand’alor  _ or not, and went to sit on the bench settled off to one side, kept there for just this purpose. Jorin let him wait until his examination was done; satisfied with his work, he looked up and nodded deeply to Jaster.

“ _ Mand’alor. _ ”

Jaster nodded back. “ _ Ba’vodu. _ ”

“Have you come to defend yourself from rumors and gossip?” Jorin asked wryly, and Jaster snorted, shaking his head.

“ _ Nayc,  _ although I will admit to  _ you  _ that they aren’t entirely accurate.” Jorin hummed, hearing the unspoken message: Jaster wished the rest of the  _ Haat’ade,  _ and possibly the  _ Jetiise,  _ to believe that he and Ben Kenobi  _ had  _ spent the night together. Jorin smirked to himself, knowing that was as good as claiming Ben, and cast about for a temporary sheath for the blade in his hands. Finding one, he slid it carefully inside and set it down on one of the tables before turning back to Jaster, giving him his full attention.

“We just talked. He told me nearly everything. And what little he’s still holding back… I’m not sure I want to know.” Jaster grimaced faintly, and Jorin nodded slowly.

They had always known that Ben Kenobi was keeping secrets from them, though what they were, Jorin could only guess.  _ Mir’baar’ur  _ Venn had been the one to find that Obi-Wan was Ben’s clone, and Jaster had told Jorin in turn; there were few secrets between them, the  _ Mand’alor  _ and his  _ goran,  _ and Jaster personally and his  _ ba’vodu.  _ It had led to many questions that had been left unaddressed; Jaster had decided not to press Ben on the matter once he saw how genuinely he cared for the  _ adiik.  _ The few others who knew followed his lead, as they did in all things.

“Has this changed the way you feel about him?” Jorin asked, and Jaster immediately shook his head.

“ _ Nayc. _ ” Jorin hummed thoughtfully.

Jorin turned his attention back to Jaster, studying him, taking in the pinched look to his eyes, the grim set of his mouth, and frowned. “You seem troubled. Is it by what he told you?”

“Partly,” Jaster sighed in return. “It isn’t… I have no doubts about  _ him.  _ What he told me was… disturbing, but Ben handled it the best he could have. It’s the consequences of what he’s told me that worry me.”

Jorin nodded wordlessly, choosing not to weigh in on that since he did not know what Ben had told Jaster. He would not pry; if Ben Kenobi wanted him to know, Jorin would wait for the man to tell him himself. In the meantime, he would do as he always did, and put his trust in his  _ vod’ad,  _ his  _ Mand’alor.  _ If Jaster believed in Ben Kenobi, then so would Jorin.

“The  _ beskad  _ is for him,” Jorin said, and Jaster blinked at him, and then grinned, some of the shadows chased from his expression. Jorin smiled back.

“ _ Vor entye, ba’vodu. _ ”

He waved a hand. “ _ N’entye,  _ Jas’ika. When you finally took an interest in someone, especially a  _ ven’riduur  _ who could appreciate my bladework, how could I resist?”

Jaster’s smile turned somewhat exasperated, and then faded entirely. “I’m pleased to know you’re happy with the idea,” he said, and Jorin hummed again, knowing that that statement was both true and a veiled request for insight into how the others viewed the possibility of courtship between the  _ Mand’alor  _ and their resident  _ wey’cuyi Jetii. _

“There is overwhelming support for the idea from the others as well,” Jorin said, and Jaster raised an eyebrow, clearly not having expected that. Jorin’s lips twitched, not quite sure if he wanted to smile or grimace. “The  _ Haat’ade,  _ of course, know him well enough to realize how compatible you are.”

“Hels, Ben has saved their  _ shebse  _ more times than I can count. If they didn’t like him by now…” Jaster trailed off and shook his head. Jorin nodded his agreement.

“Even among the former- _ Kyr’tsad,  _ there is… some positive feeling about the idea,” Jorin said slowly, “though not for reasons you would approve of.”

“Oh?”

“They seem to believe you have… ‘tamed’ him,” Jorin answered, and Jaster scowled, dark anger in his eyes. Jorin waited patiently for the few moments it took Jaster to reign his feelings back in, no doubt hearing everything Jorin didn’t say. What those former- _Kyr’tsad_ had said was far, far worse than what Jorin had repeated to Jaster, but they had already been punished for their disrespect. The two worst offenders were sporting broken bones, and another three who had snickered along were walking around with blackened eyes. Jorin did not take kindly to disrespect towards his _aliit_ —or _ven’allit_ —especially in his own forge. Jaster may have been _Mand’alor,_ but Jorin was his _goran,_ a position almost as sacred. Jorin’s forge was _his_ domain.

But there were plenty, particularly within House Vizsla, who were too clever for such outright idiocy in his presence, though it was still clear they had agreed with their  _ vod’e.  _ Still, as long as they were not going to riot over it, all would be well, in time. Jorin trusted Jaster to handle it.

Jaster’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief, a hint of a smile making its way back onto his face. Jorin knew that, had the reaction among most  _ Mando’ade  _ been negative at the prospect of Jaster courting Ben, Jaster wouldn’t have gone ahead with it. His duty to his people, to Mandalore, came before anything else.  _ Oya Manda. _

But, thankfully, that was not an issue they would face. Though Jorin would not say it to Jaster’s face, the primary reaction amongst the  _ Haat’ade  _ was  _ relief. _

“There is something else,” Jaster said, and Jorin nodded. “Adonai sponsored a petition for Ursa Wren. An accusation against Kes’s treatment of Pre.”

“That is a serious accusation,” Jorin said slowly. Hopefully, it was proof that Clan Vizsla, if not the majority of the House, was still “training” their  _ ade  _ the same way they’d done it before Tor had died: torture. They heavily suspected it was still happening, but they had no proof, and without it, their hands were tied. It burned, to sacrifice  _ ade,  _ to let them suffer even a moment longer, but if they acted without sufficient cause, the civil war would undoubtedly begin again in earnest.

“Wren said Pre has the  _ ka’ra, _ ” Jaster explained, and Jorin frowned. He knew what Clan and House Vizsla thought of the  _ ka’ra,  _ and the  _ Jetiise.  _ It was baffling to him, how they could hate both the mystic powers of the  _ Jetiise,  _ and the  _ Jetiise  _ themselves for good measure, when their House’s most famous member was Tarre Vizsla, a former  _ Jetii.  _ Kriff, the man’s  _ Jetii’kad  _ was  _ still  _ the symbol of the  _ Mand’alor.  _ “When he uses it, Kes cuts him off from it.” Jaster’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Jorin’s frown grew deeper. “She started with  _ beskar’gam. _ ”

Jorin growled quietly at that. To know that  _ beskar  _ was being used to  _ harm  _ any  _ Mando’ad,  _ rather than protecting them, was… anathema.  _ Beskar’gam  _ was never meant to be used  _ against Mando’ade. _

As a  _ goran,  _ he took that rather… personally.

“Binders now, or suppresants?” Jorin asked gruffly.

“Binders, from their own armory. Likely a relic from the old Wars,” Jaster answered. Jorin grimaced.

There were few  _ Mando’ade  _ who had the  _ ka’ra  _ who became  _ verd’e.  _ At least, few with any significant connection. Wearing  _ beskar’gam  _ for most of them was too uncomfortable, and so they often wore durasteel instead, which was serviceable, but not ideal. Those who had a slight touch normally got over the discomfort of wearing  _ beskar’gam,  _ and it was only Ben, in recent years, that Jorin had encountered who both had the  _ ka’ra  _ and wore  _ beskar’gam.  _ The cortosis  _ buy’ce  _ had been clever, apparently an old trick from the Army of the Light. Where he’d gotten the cortosis, Jorin didn’t ask.

The point being this: Jorin  _ knew  _ how uncomfortable it was for those who had the  _ ka’ra  _ to wear  _ beskar’gam.  _ He’d  _ seen it.  _ Two of the  _ ade  _ he’d fitted for their final,  _ haat beskar’gam  _ on Concord Dawn had immediately taken it back off and cried. The fact that Kes Vizsla was  _ forcing  _ her  _ ad  _ to go through that was… infuriating.

“As a member of their House, her word will count far more than her age will,” Jorin said flatly. “It’s enough to act on.”

Jaster nodded. “It is. But what, exactly, to do about it… That is less clear.”

Jorin forced himself to breathe, to set aside the knowledge that they  _ knew  _ there was an  _ adiik  _ being harmed, and turned his thoughts to the reason they had not acted before now. “You can’t simply name her  _ Dar’Manda  _ and exile her.” Which would have been the neatest solution, and what they would normally do in cases such as this. Pre was not the only one to be tortured because he had the  _ ka’ra.  _ They put a stop to it, where they could, and access to Ben had helped, some, when  _ Mando’ade  _ saw what someone with the  _ ka’ra could  _ be like, with proper training, but it still happened. When it did, they exiled them, a compromise with the New Mandalorians. In Jorin’s day, they would have killed the  _ dar’buir’e _ for it.

“ _ Nayc.  _ Not while she stands as head of House Vizsla,” Jaster agreed. “The consequences for the rest of the House… It would set off that powder keg when we’re just starting to make progress with them.”

Jorin hummed and nodded. “ _ Elek. _ ” He paused, pursing his lips in thought, briefly mulling over his idea before voicing it. “Allow Ben to handle it.”

Jaster frowned. “That’s a terrible idea,  _ ba’vodu.  _ They hate him on principle.”

“He is considered by most to be more  _ Mando’ad  _ than  _ Jetii,  _ and all know that he is under your protection, and a member of our House,” Jorin pointed out. “They would not dare harm him for fear of the insult to  _ you.  _ They do not yet have the resources for another open war, not that they would be willing to commit over their hatred of one man.” Jaster’s frown turned thoughtful at that, and then he slowly, grudgingly, nodded. “He is the only one available to us who truly understands the  _ ka’ra.  _ Even our most experienced  _ ba’jise  _ here do not have his level of skill and knowledge. He will know best what to do for the  _ adiik. _ ” Jaster nodded again, though he still didn’t look very happy. Jorin’s lips twitched in a smile, and he added, “Send Jan’ika with him.”

Jaster barked a laugh at that, knowing exactly what Jorin meant.  _ That  _ would make a statement, sending Ben to take the lead on a formal petition against House Vizsla, with Jango’s presence, as Jaster’s heir apparent, signalling Jaster’s explicit approval and trust. And that coupled with the rumors flying around the stronghold really  _ would  _ be as good as a claim on Ben.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jaster conceded, and Jorin nodded. “Are you coming to dinner?”

Ah, Jorin had almost forgotten about that. Latemeal with the  _ Jetiise.  _ Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind speaking to Koon again. That  _ Jetii  _ was alright, for an  _ aruetii.  _ And, he thought, looking more critically at Jaster, who had a tense set to his shoulders, jaw slightly clenched, it might be best to be there in case someone needed to steady his  _ vod’ad. _

“Of course,” he said, and Jaster nodded, looking slightly relieved and rather grateful.

“ _ Vor’e.  _ It’s… The  _ Jetiise  _ themselves are fine,” Jaster sighed, “but what Ben told me about what happened to him… It’s going to be difficult to see them and not think of it. Now I understand why his feelings about them are… complicated.”

Jorin nodded slowly, tempted to ask for more, but forced himself not to. Time and patience would earn Ben’s trust in full. The man rather reminded him of a wounded, orphaned tooka Jorin had taken in as an  _ adiik.  _ It had clearly  _ wanted  _ to trust him, but it had been hurt before. Only time and patience had helped it to believe Jorin could be trusted, and the same would be true of Ben.

And he had some trust already, built over the seven years of their acquaintance, and displayed in the  _ beskar’gam  _ Ben entrusted his life to, forged for him by Jorin. That indicated a not insignificant level of trust, but not quite enough, apparently, for these secrets. It chafed, a bit, because  _ goran’e  _ were meant to be keepers of knowledge, and whatever knowledge Ben had, it seemed terribly important.

But, looking at Jaster, taking note of his slightly duller eyes, the slightly more sober air to him, the way a weight seemed to have settled on his shoulders, the same look Ben carried… Jorin thought he might not want to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> ven'riduur - future spouse
> 
> I think that's the only new word I used this chapter! :)
> 
> Vladisyl - Thank you so much! I have no idea how collections work, but I'd be happy to be added to yours! Please let me know if there's anything I need to do. :) If anyone else wants to add this to their collection, please feel free!
> 
> Edit: Well, I've had to compromise. I've changed the settings on this fic so that only registered users can comment. I'm still getting people going on and on about the pronouns, so I'll say it one more time for the class: Don't like it, don't read it. This is just a fanfic. I get that it's not to everyone's tastes, but if you're really that offended by people giving their pronouns when they introduce themselves, stop reading the story.
> 
> I am sorry to everyone else who's been commenting without an account! All of the trolls have been too wimpy to log in, if they have accounts at all, so it seemed like the easiest solution to stop the flow of trolls. It's the best compromise I could come up with.
> 
> I'll put this disclaimer on the next chapter as well (which is about half-done so far!) for anyone who doesn't see it here. To everyone who has continued to read this story and stuck with me while the plot bunnies gnaw at my brain, THANK YOU! :D I appreciate all of you so much. <3


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! :D I'm alive!
> 
> So, I won't lie to you, I've had this part written for a whiiile now. I was trying to either cut it down or decide where to cut it, because this chapter is long compared to the others, and we still haven't gotten through the entire dinner yet, *sigh.* But with it being so long since I've updated this, I figured I would just post what I've got finished so far for the dinner scenes. :)
> 
> On a personal life note: my family member who had COVID pneumonia is now fully recovered! :D Thank you again so much to everyone who sent their well wishes to them. I had them read it and they were super pumped, even if they don't really understand who everyone is and what they're commenting on... LOL
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy The Dinner, Part 1!!! :D

The Kel Dor Mandalorian who had been kind enough to share his quarters with Plo, Van Priest, came with Arla Fett (the _Mand’alor’s_ older child, Tholme knew) and Quinlan in tow to lead them through the stronghold to the hall where they would be having dinner. Tholme was surprised to see both Mandalorians had opted not to wear most of their armor; instead, Arla was wearing an orange tunic and her vambraces over top, and Priest was wearing comfortably worn-in leathers, with his own vambraces and boots as his only visible armor.

Tholme glanced at Quinlan, making a note to work on their mental communication skills. Catching his Padawan’s eye, Tholme ticked an eyebrow to ask if he’d found anything. Quinlan gave him a smirk, and Tholme nodded. He had something, then. Whatever it was would have to wait; he’d hoped Quinlan would be back in time to report on what he’d found before they left for latemeal, where they would be surrounded by Mandalorians. That would hardly be a good time to ask.

Where he had been, Tholme wasn’t quite sure, only having been able to sense that he was still within the stronghold, but as they began moving through the halls, Quinlan fell into step with Arla, the two of them at ease with each other. Wherever Quinlan had gone, he’d been with her. A good choice, Tholme thought, but possibly a dangerous one. As the daughter of the _Mand’alor,_ she may well have been doing exactly what _they_ were doing, and investigating their intentions. He would have to question Quinlan thoroughly, later.

“We normally don’t eat in the main hall, except for holidays and the _yaim'ol’e_ —the homecoming celebrations,” Arla explained as she and Priest led them through the stronghold. “Most days, clans tend to eat together in their own homes. The _verd’e_ in the barracks without families will sometimes join other clans, or just take turns cooking for each other.”

“What homecoming celebrations?” Quinlan asked.

“When _traat'aliit’e_ —ah…” Arla floundered for the word in Basic, and Plo hummed.

“Units?”

“ _Elek,_ units, or squads,” Arla said, nodding gratefully to him. “Anyway, they go out on a rotational basis for jobs and campaigns, so there’s always enough _Haat’ade_ here to muster if need be. When each _traat'aliit_ comes back in, we have a homecoming party. A big dinner, like this will be. A lot of the time there are new foundlings to meet, too.”

Tholme had heard much about the concept of foundlings. In Quinlan’s rough paraphrasing of Initiate Kenobi, “Mandalorians have a tendency to adopt anything that looks like it needs feeding.” Initiate Kenobi had been adopted himself, and was Stewjoni by birth. That much was in his Temple file, which Tholme had read in preparation for this assignment, and which his Padawan had not. Quinlan had had no need to, having heard it all from Initiate Kenobi himself.

“I will warn you,” Priest said dryly, his voice deep like Plo’s, a side effect of their breathers, but with a heavy accent, “that the parties _Mando’ade_ have can become… boisterous.” He looked at Tholme, and then nodded towards Quinlan’s back, Priest having fallen back to walk beside Tholme and Plo. “Particularly later in the evening.”

Ah, after the younglings went to bed, then. Tholme’s lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. That would be a perfect excuse to leave early with Quinlan and question him on what he’d found, and what he’d told Arla.

They reached the hall, the large, heavy double doors already thrown wide open. Outside, it was loud, laughter and the chatter of a hundred conversations happening at once floating out the doors. Inside, the hall was even larger than Tholme had expected. He had almost thought he would see some sort of dais for the _Mand’alor_ and his family, but there was none. Instead, there was a mix of smaller and larger tables, and then much lower ones with cushions set around them. In the center of the room was a large, crackling bonfire, the smoke vented through what looked like retractable panels in the ceiling. There were people everywhere, Mandalorians in various combinations of armor and tunics, and younger children running about, weaving between the adults and laughing brightly.

One of them slammed headlong into Billaba, and then stumbled back. She caught the youngling’s shoulders, steadying them, and chuckled.

“ _Su’cuy,_ Lunril,” she said, and the boy brightened. Tholme’s lips twitched in another smile; Billaba had told him about Satine and Lunril, and had sounded rather fond of them both.

“ _Jetii_ Depa!” he said, and then pried one of her hands off his shoulder, taking it in his and trying to pull her away. “Come sit with me and my _aliit!_ ” Billaba glanced to Plo, who nodded, and then Arla, who shrugged.

“Sit where you like.”

“Alright. Thank you for the offer, Lunril. If you’ll lead the way?” Lunril waved at the rest of them, beaming, and then scampered off, Billaba following just behind him with a vaguely amused expression on her face, bright happiness curling around her in the Force.

“We mingle until the food’s ready,” Arla explained. “We eat wherever, but we do have a room set up for all the Kel Dor.” She nodded to a door off to the side, and Plo nodded back.

“Quite considerate of you.”

Arla waved a hand. “We’re used to accommodating lots of different species,” she reminded them. Another Mandalorian, this one humanoid, with silver hair and kind but assessing dark eyes, and wearing the most complete set of armor Tholme had yet seen, with a chestplate, pauldrons, and vambraces over a black tunic, waved at Plo and Priest.

“That is the _goran?_ ” Plo asked, and Priest nodded. “I had not yet seen him out of his _beskar’gam._ ”

“Well, if he wants to talk to us, we’d best not keep him waiting,” Priest said, and Plo chuckled, low and rumbling.

“Indeed,” he agreed, and nodded to Tholme, Quinlan, and Arla before following Priest across the hall to this _goran._

“What is a _goran?_ ” Tholme asked.

“He’s an armorer,” Quinlan answered, and Arla nodded, something like approval in her expression. “Is Obi-Wan’s _buir_ coming?”

“He should be,” Arla said, nodding. “But _buir_ and Jango aren’t here yet either. He’s probably with them.” Quinlan nodded, looking like he was fighting back a smirk again. _The Mandalorians say that Ben Kenobi is “always” with the_ Mand’alor, Tholme recalled Plo and Billaba telling him. “In the meantime, there are a few other people I want to introduce you to.”

Arla unceremoniously hooked her arm around Quinlan’s and began marching him off. Tholme stifled a sigh and followed, wondering if he should try to find a sooner time to separate his Padawan from the _Mand’alor’s_ daughter. He would very much like to know what they spent the past few hours doing, for her to already be so casual with him.

* * *

Jaster tugged at the collar of his tunic again, grimacing faintly. He knew and accepted that there would be times when, as _Mand’alor,_ he would be required to look like the king he was, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Wearing the stiff, heavy tunics under his chestplate and vambraces just felt _wrong._ And he was trying very hard not to think about the _beskar_ circlet Liika had produced from _ka’ra_ knew where. She had insisted, and both Silas and Reau had agreed. Overruled, Jaster had put it on, and was now trying (vainly) to ignore it.

“You didn’t even scowl like that when I threw you off of that roof on Phindar.” Jaster looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the hem of one of his sleeves, smiling in relief at Ben and Jango.

“ _‘Lek,_ but on Phindar, I didn’t feel nearly so _laandur,_ ” Jaster retorted, and Ben huffed a laugh, Jango making a face.

“You are not someone I have ever thought of as _fragile,_ Jaster,” Ben said, still smiling. “And at least you get to wear your chestplate.” Jaster hummed an acknowledgement, running a hand over the _kar’ta_ in the center. Ben reached to his belt, and pulled out his flask. Wordlessly, he handed it over. Jaster wasted no time uncapping it and taking a long pull before handing it back. He hummed at the slightly sweet aftertaste of the brandy. Ben took a swallow himself, and then another, and Jaster realized he was probably not as together as he seemed. He would have to make sure Ben wasn’t separated from him while the _Jetiise_ were around. Ben held out the flask to Jango, who grimaced faintly and shook his head, giving Ben a small " _nayc, vor'e_." Jaster huffed a laugh at that; Jango couldn't stand most alcohol, beyond _netra'gal_ or _tihaar._

As Ben went to reattach the flask to his belt, Jaster caught his eye, studying him for a long moment, silently offering him one last chance to back out. This wasn’t going to be like his other meetings with the _Jetiise,_ after all; this time, Ben wasn’t mostly-encased in _ka’ra-_ dampening _beskar._ No, instead, he was wearing the same sort of stiff tunics Jaster was, and only his vambraces and boots.

Ben gave him a tight smile and a small nod, and Jaster nodded back. That was that, then.

“Shall we?” Ben prompted him, and Jaster nodded.

It wasn’t exactly a short trek to the main hall from Jaster’s rooms, the wing for the _Aliit be’Alor_ situated away from the higher-traffic areas of the stronghold for better security, but it took only a few minutes before they were walking through the familiar double doors; it was only then that he realized Jango had separated from them, probably called away by one of his Grunts, or some other friend. The party, it seemed, was already in full swing, and just awaiting the food. The familiar din of laughter and conversation, and the sheer number of his House wandering around the hall, made Jaster grin, some of his nerves easing.

He scanned the room for the _Jetiise_ first, and grinned as he spotted Billaba with Lunril and his _aliit,_ already seated on the cushions around one of the low tables meant for the youngest of the _adiik’e_ in the stronghold. They were deep in conversation, Billaba situated between Lunril and his _ori’vod,_ Veze. Jaster couldn’t help but laugh as Lunril gestured wildly—no doubt spinning some yarn, as always—and Billaba, with her quick _Jetii_ reflexes, grabbed her drink off the table before Lunril could send it flying.

Koon he found, predictably, with Jorin and Van. Jorin had mentioned before they parted earlier that he wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time with Koon, while the _Jetiise_ lingered on _Manda’yaim;_ Jorin described Koon as thoughtful, respectful, and intuitive, all good qualities, especially in the eyes of a _goran._ Koon, in turn, seemed to have realized that _goran’e_ were a wealth of information, and was soaking up everything he could learn. Koon noticed his attention, meeting his gaze and holding it for a moment before nodding deeply. Jaster nodded back, holding the eye contact until Koon turned back to Jorin and Van.

But he didn’t see Tholme, or the _Jetii’ad._ Ben, as always, simply seemed to _know_ who he was looking for, and touched his arm before nodding towards a thick throng of people gathered around one of the tables not far from the fire. Jaster frowned, looking closer, but no one looked upset. In fact, most of the _Mando’ade_ in the group looked amused. Jaster let his shoulders relax again.

“If I had to guess,” Ben said, “Padawan Vos is likely telling a very enthralling and highly embellished story.”

Jaster snorted. “We should try to keep him and Lunril apart, or their tales will get even wilder, trying to outdo each other.” Ben laughed brightly at that.

“As they should,” Ben said fondly. “They are _ade,_ after all.”

Jaster shook his head ruefully, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile threatening to break out, and then he nudged Ben’s shoulder gently with his own. “Lead on.” Ben nodded slowly, surveying the tables for another moment before skirting the crowd to lead them to one of the larger ones, already sparsely occupied by Jaster’s Headhunters. A smart choice, he decided: even if the _Jetiise_ wandered over to them, Jaster knew these _verd’e_ were loyal, and they would make a good buffer between the _Jetiise_ and Ben.

They took their places on the low bench, their arrival acknowledged with respectful nods and two tankards of _netra’gal_ shoved at them before the others resumed their conversations. Though, Jaster noted, they kept glancing at him and Ben, and he stifled a smirk. No doubt they were wondering about the truth of those rumors.

Ben took a sip of his _netra’gal,_ humming in satisfaction, and then turned back to Jaster. “I had several questions about the infrastructure repairs and the proposal for Ve’liik.”

Jaster grimaced at the reminder, even roundabout as it was, of the Vizslas on Concordia. He took a sip of his own drink, far larger than Ben’s, and knew Ben could tell he was uncomfortable when he ticked an eyebrow up. Jaster sighed and shook his head. “I have other news regarding Concordia as well. But that will keep until the morning. _You_ are off-duty tonight.”

Ben opened his mouth to protest, but Pao, _ka’ra_ bless him, spoke up first from across the table. “We’re _all_ off-duty tonight, except for the poor bastards who pulled sentry shifts.” Ben smiled at that and sighed dramatically.

“If I’m not to discuss work, whatever shall I do to fill my time?” he asked, and Pao snorted. 

“More like _who_ shall you do,” he said, and cast a significant look to Jaster, making Ben blink at him in confusion, his head slightly tilted in silent question. Pao just shook his head, no doubt exasperated by Ben’s persistent obliviousness, and Jaster quickly took another drink to hide his own smirk.

“Clan Rook reported in this morning,” Liika interjected, for _once_ taking the high road and not needling him and Ben by making some juvenile sex joke, and Jaster tipped his head slightly in approval. She smiled at him and continued, “They aren’t due back from that job on Felucia for another month, but they’re bringing back two new foundlings.”

That statement immediately garnered everyone’s attention, _ade,_ as ever, trumping everything else. Even Ben was listening intently, distracted by the prospect of new foundlings to meet and welcome. Jaster scanned the room once more for the _Jetiise,_ and, finding them in the same places he’d seen them before, he started to relax, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of his _aliit_ around him and looking forward to the new _ade_ just as much as the others were.

* * *

The crowd around their table finally began to disperse as the food came out, their hunger for nourishment outweighing their hunger for more stories about Obi-Wan. Quinlan watched as the food was pushed in on huge rolling tables piled high with food that even _smelled_ so spicy his eyes were starting to water. Arla took one look at him and laughed, pointing out another table off to one side, piled high with large jugs.

“Grab one or two of those each,” she told him and Tholme. “They’re full of milk, and it should be enough to get you through. I’ll tell you which foods are less spicy, too.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Quinlan answered, and Arla nodded.

“ _Ade_ and their _cabur’e_ go first,” she continued her explanation, “and after that, it’s a bit of a free for all.” She shrugged, and Quinlan tilted his head, idly wondering if fighting was going to break out, though he doubted it.

“ _Ade_ includes me, right?” he clarified, and Arla barked a laugh and reached out to gently tug on one of his dreadlocks. Quinlan felt Tholme’s gaze on them, heavy and searching, likely wondering what was going on between them. Honestly, Quinlan didn’t really know _why_ Arla was being so familiar with him, but he figured it probably had something to do with him being Obi-Wan’s friend, and a child himself. Technically, anyway. He was already fourteen, over the age the _Haat’ade_ had their _verdgoten’e_ at, but since _he_ hadn’t had one, or reached his Republic age of majority, he was still a child in their eyes.

“Hungry, _ad’ika?_ ” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice, and Quinlan opened his mouth, but his rumbling stomach answered first. Arla laughed brightly, and several of the other _Haat’ade_ around the table snickered good-naturedly at him.

“Maybe a little,” he conceded. Some sort of gong sounded, though from where, Quinlan couldn’t tell, and Arla nodded, making to stand.

“That’s our cue,” she said, and gestured for him and Tholme to rise as well. She led them through the crowd, responding to the Mandalorians who greeted her from their tables with a nod or a cheerful “ _Su’cuy, vod!_ ” while Tholme and Quinlan politely pretended that people weren’t staring at them. Feeling a little mischievous, Quinlan started to wave at the _Mand’alor_ when he caught sight of him (no less imposing out of most of his armor, Quinlan thought), and then stopped, using the hand he’d raised to catch Arla’s arm.

“That’s Obi’s dad?” he asked, nodding to the redheaded man sitting _very_ close to the _Mand’alor._ Arla nodded.

“That’s Ben,” she confirmed. “Oh, I think they brought out shatual, with the good pepper sauce. You’ll _love it._ ”

“If it doesn’t burn my tongue off, maybe,” Quinlan joked, and Arla laughed again, shaking her head.

“Trust me, you can’t do any worse with the spice than that Chun kid,” she said, half-turning to him, giving him a look that was part amused and part disgusted. “He cried more than any of the foundlings I’ve ever seen after their first meal. It was… impressive.”

Quinlan laughed, nodding along with her. “Obi told me about that, and how _Ba’ji_ Yoda just… ate it, like it was nothing.” He cast another look to Ben Kenobi, and found the man’s eyes on him, watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face. Almost like the blank serenity he saw on a Master’s face. Quinlan beamed back at him and waved, pleased when the man’s lips quirked and he nodded to him in return.

It took some time to get their food, mostly because, as one of the older children, Quinlan was expected to help the younger kids. He found he didn’t really mind; it almost felt like helping in the creche, which he’d had to do a _lot_ of when he’d first become Tholme’s Padawan. His Master had thought it would be a good way for him to learn _patience,_ and impulse control. Plus it didn’t hurt that if he got caught in an echo in the creche, it would probably be strong, but fairly innocent, and easier for him to recover from.

Halfway through the longest table of food, Quinlan’s plate already laden with food (and he didn’t even know what half of it was, but Arla had asked if he and Tholme had any allergies, proceeding to simply point at things and tell them to take it when she got the all-clear from them), and he barked a laugh as he saw Depa with a little Nautolan kid who was both helping her and being helped by her.

“—and this one has two kinds of pepper sauce,” the kid was saying, Depa nodding along and humming before choosing food for them both, stacking their plates just as high as Quinlan was with his. “Oh, _su’cuy, Jetiise!_ ”

“ _Su’cuy,_ ” Quinlan answered. Tholme, just behind him, simply nodded to the boy. Quinlan made a mental note to talk to his Master about that, later. He knew that Tholme felt… awkward around most kids, at least until they hit apprenticeship eligibility, but he would have to make more of an effort here. People were judged far more on their interactions with children on Mandalore than Tholme might realize.

By the end of the line, Quinlan had ended up with two plates, and no hands left to take any of the jugs. Frowning slightly, he shrugged one shoulder and simply lifted four of them with the Force. Tholme hummed.

“Higher, I think, Padawan,” he instructed him, and Quinlan nodded, lifting them high enough that they would pass over the heads of those seated at the tables as they made their way back to their own. Quinlan noted that there was almost no reaction from the Mandalorians who happened to see him do it, only a few fond smiles and amused shakes of their heads. That supported the idea that Ben Kenobi wasn’t just Force-sensitive, he actually _used it_ often enough that such displays were now normal in their minds. He was sure there was something interesting or significant there, but he’d have to talk it over with Tholme before he could figure out what that was.

They finally got themselves situated, and then politely waited as the rest of their table went to get their own food. There seemed to be an informal rotation set up for whose turn it was to get in line, and many of the Mandalorians stood around talking before returning to their tables.

Finally, everyone had returned to their table, and Quinlan didn’t miss the way all eyes were on him and Tholme, waiting for them to take their first bites. Probably expecting them to react like Bruck Chun had at the levels of spice. What they _didn’t_ know was that Quinlan had been practicing eating Mandalorian food for years, now. When he snuck out to Little Keldabe, each of the vendors he went to for the spices he gave Obi-Wan refused to let him leave without feeding him first.

Pasting the stereotypical “serene Jedi smile” on his face, Quinlan picked up one of the few things he recognized as having had before, in Little Keldabe (though he had no idea _what_ it was, only that it was _good_ ) and bit into it. He met Myles’s gaze across the table, chewing with a perfectly straight face, until he heard a small cough beside him. Without breaking eye contact, he used the Force to slide one of the jugs of milk over to Tholme.

“Thank you, Padawan,” Tholme said, voice a bit strained, and Quinlan finally turned to look at him. He was grimacing faintly, his normally pale face bright red, and Quinlan couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’ll get used to it,” Quinlan assured him, and Tholme paused, the milk halfway to his mouth, and raised an eyebrow at Quinlan, such utter distaste on his face that Quinlan couldn’t help but laugh again. Reaching out, Quinlan pushed the bottom of the jug, tipping it up and forcing Tholme to drink, sparking another round of laughter among the Mandalorians around them.

Quinlan’s smile faded as he felt someone’s gaze on him, and he turned slightly. He hummed as he realized it was Ben Kenobi, studying him with a thoughtful expression on his face. Arla leaned over to bump their shoulders together, something Quinlan had seen the Mandalorians do with each other, usually when they had their pauldrons on.

“We’ll get to mingle later,” she promised, and Quinlan nodded. “For now, _haili cetare._ ”

* * *

Jango had actually been looking forward to dinner. They weren’t due for a _yaim’ol_ until next month, when Clan Rook was due back with their newest foundlings. As much as Jango wasn’t the most social person, the _yaim’ol’e_ were always his favorite times. It was reassuring, seeing the majority of House Mereel in the flesh, and knowing they were secure enough to let loose and relax, at least for one night, was always a relief.

He’d been sorely tempted to wear his _beskar’gam,_ but knew that since no one else was, he would thank himself for forgoing it tonight, thereby avoiding the endless teasing of the Grunts, and probably _buir’s_ Headhunter Company. Still, the tunic he wore—dark blue, picked out by Arla who claimed it “really brought out his eyes,” whatever that meant—felt too restrictive; the high collar didn’t help, and he had to force himself not to tug at it. The _beskar_ boots and vambraces he’d put on over his other clothes _did_ help, at least some. Arla had chosen to wear orange, with her own vambraces over her tunic, though she wasn’t wearing her _cetare._ (And where _she_ had been all afternoon, she hadn’t said, and Jango could only hope that she hadn’t been gossiping about _buir_ and Ben. Knowing her, though, that was a vain hope.)

He’d only gotten a glimpse of Ben and _buir_ before they’d headed off to the main hall though, before he was called away by one of the _verd’e_ on comms duty. Jango grimaced, wishing he was back in his shell if he was going to be working anyway, but didn’t dawdle on his way to the main comms hub.

“ _Me’vaar ti gar?_ ” he called as he entered, scowling at the _verd’e_ who gave him wide-eyed looks. What he was wearing wasn’t _that_ different from the usual, after all, just… a little nicer. Dressing up for the _Jetiise_ had been important to _buir,_ for some reason, but it wasn’t like they’d never seen him in a softshell before. He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow.

“Right, uh, _ni n’e._ We intercepted something we think might be important,” Afra answered. They were young, younger than Jango, even, and definitely had more of a head for intelligence and datawork than fighting, though they were decent enough. Jaster had put them on comms, for now, with an eye on a career in datamining for them. Jango thought it would be a good fit.

He stopped woolgathering as Afra hit the controls, playing back the recording they’d intercepted.

“— _unknown at this point what caused the blast,_ ” someone was saying, and Jango frowned. “ _We have three guards confirmed dead, and twelve workers missing._ ”

“ _Indentured, or skilled?_ ” another voice asked, smooth as silk, and sounding supremely unbothered by the deaths mentioned. Jango frowned at that.

“ _Indentured._ ”

The other sighed. “ _I hardly have time to concern myself with this_ **_now_ ** _. Move them all to the rig in sector 11, and drop the bodies into the ocean._ ”

“ _Yes, sir. But what do we tell the authorities?_ ”

“ _I’m certain you’ll think of something._ ”

The recording ended, and Jango mulled it over for a long moment. “Where did this originate?”

“The call was between a private civvie ship and someone somewhere on Bandomeer,” Afra said. “The ships we sent to scout for the pirates were close enough to the ship to pick this up; it came through on the same frequency a general distress call would.” Jango hummed, nodding slowly.

“Was the ship within our borders?”

“ _Nayc._ Close, but it didn’t cross over.”

“Did we tag the signature?”

“Of course.”

“Put it on the watch list,” Jango instructed them. “If it crosses into our space, I want to know about it.”

“ _Elek._ ” Afra looked hesitant about something, still, and so Jango waved a hand in invitation. “I just… They mentioned ‘indentured’ workers. But Bandomeer is a Republic planet, and I didn’t think the Republic allowed slavery.”

Jango sighed, shaking his head. He really wished Ben was available to field this question; his familiarity with the Republic would have meant a better answer. But he was the one here, and he wasn’t going to make Afra wait, knowing it was best not to let that kind of thought fester. “Their system isn’t foolproof, _vod._ No system is. There are certain loopholes corporations can and sometimes _do_ use, and ‘indentured servitude’ is one of them. The workers supposedly have the option to work off a debt they owe to the company, though the reality is more like slavery than they care to admit.”

Afra looked far from accepting of that, and Jango couldn’t blame them, but they nodded. “ _Ni suvari._ I’ll add the ship’s codes to our alert list.”

“ _Vor’e._ And keep an eye on that channel,” Jango ordered, probably unnecessarily, but Afra snapped off an entirely heartfelt salute, and Jango nodded back, fighting to keep the grin from his face. Fighter though Afra may not be, they were so _eager,_ and their enthusiasm always managed to lift Jango’s spirits a bit.

“I’ll let you know if anything else comes through, _Alor’ika,_ ” Afra promised, and the urge to smile fled as Jango realized just how _far_ that nickname had spread amongst the _Haat’ade._ “You should go enjoy dinner.”

Jango snorted at that. “You’re probably right. If I don’t get there soon, Arl’ika will have eaten it all herself, and then we’ll all go hungry tonight.” Afra snickered, as did a few of the blatantly eavesdropping _verd’e,_ and Jango shook his head. “You’re all welcome to join us, when your shift is over and your relief comes.”

That was hardly new information to them, but the reminder clearly bolstered their spirits, the others sitting up a bit straighter in their chairs, and Jango smiled to himself once more before heading back out into the stronghold proper. He tried to turn his thoughts to the celebration, but something about that comm recording bothered him.

Jango was about as Force-sensitive as a rock, so he didn’t have anything like Ben’s intuition to work with, but… He had a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Haili cetare - Eat up! (Literally means "fill your boots," which I personally find hilariously on-brand for Mandalorians)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the chapter I meant to write. It's just one of those, y'know, where nothing I wanted to say comes out the way I wanted it to be? Meh. I've worked and reworked this and I'm just going to shove it out into the universe so I can move on to the next chapter, and the stuff we all want to see next. ;)
> 
> There will sorta kinda be a dinner part 3 next chapter to wrap it up, but that's just the beginning of the next chapter. We're moving on, I swear!
> 
> Always always, thank you guys for all of your comments and kudos! :D I appreciate them, and I love hearing what you're thinking will happen next or what you want to see.
> 
> Kayasurin, to answer your comment: I wouldn't say that an ace headcanon for Ben and Jaster would be incompatible with the story as I plan to write it, though I don't necessarily intend it to be? There won't be any on-screen smut, just physical affection, so if you wanted to headcanon them as ace, feel free! :D Personally, I kinda think they're both fairly low libido, and sex for them is more about emotional closeness and satisfaction in that sense versus about the physical. Sort of demisexual, I guess would be the closest term for how I view them.

After four tankards of _netra’gal,_ Ben could feel his cheeks starting to warm, and the tension in his shoulders relaxing. The _happiness-peace-warmth_ of the gathered _Haat’ade_ helped, too, and so did Jaster’s steadfast presence beside him. Ben, as ever, could sense little from his friend, but what he did sense was a surge of _protectiveness,_ also displayed in Jaster’s stubborn refusal to be separated from him tonight. Under other circumstances, that sort of mother tooka behavior might have been grating, but not now.

Not when Quinlan Vos was here, had met his gaze, and seen a stranger. That had hit Ben so much harder than he’d expected, even after Depa had done so first, and then Plo. In fact, the knowledge that he would likely go through the same disappointment, however expected, with _every_ Jedi he met now was—

“ _Ben._ ” Jaster’s tone indicated that wasn’t the first time he’d called his name, and Ben hummed as he looked back at him. Jaster’s own face was pinker than usual, but his eyes were alert, and his brow slightly furrowed. “ _Me’vaar ti gar?_ ”

Ben shrugged one shoulder and gave him a small, tight smile. “ _Naas._ I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”

Jaster nodded slowly, though he didn’t look convinced. “Do you know where Jango’s gotten to?”

Knowing what Jaster was asking for, Ben reached for Jango’s familiar presence, frowning as he had to extend himself farther and farther into the stronghold, until—

“He’s in the kitchens.” That was odd. Jango loved _yaim’ol’e,_ and any sort of gathering with his _aliit._ It was the closest Ben ever felt him come to _peaceful,_ and for him to miss this was out of character.

“I’ll give him a bit to join us before I send someone looking for him,” Jaster sighed. “ _Manda_ only knows what he’s up to.”

Ben took a moment to probe at the Force a bit deeper, frowning at the hints of _something-Dark-is-coming,_ but he could sense no _immediate_ danger, so he nodded his agreement.

“The dancing will be starting soon,” Jaster said, nodding to the table where the _Haat’ade_ who played instruments were gathering, bringing out their _bes’bev’e_ and their drums. Ben felt a spark of relief; that meant he only had to hope the assembled Jedi would keep their distance for just a _bit_ longer, and then they would have no opportunity to speak to him. He could slip away, once the dancing was done; he didn’t _have_ to stay for the heavier drinking, after the _ade_ were sent off to bed.

Not even a moment later, his hopes were dashed as Quinlan turned again and met his gaze, smiling and waving at him. Ben pasted a smile on his face and nodded back. Jaster turned his head, sighing as he saw where Ben was looking.

“Think it’s too much to hope he won’t come over here?” Jaster murmured, and Ben snorted.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Oh, come on,” Vlek said from his seat beside Pao. “The _Jetii’ad_ isn’t that bad. Knows how to tell a good story, at least, and he’s got some I hadn’t heard about Ob’ika.” Ben hummed noncommittally and took another sip of what was now his fifth tankard of _netra’gal,_ keeping half an eye on Quinlan.

He stood up, Tholme and Arla going with him, and Ben sighed as he set his tankard back down. Jaster shifted ever-so-slightly closer to him, their knees and arms now brushing, and Ben didn’t need to look at him to know he was also watching the approaching Jedi. Jaster didn’t often use his position to intimidate others, or get what he wanted, at least not among _Mando’ade._ But _aruetiise,_ like the Jedi, were fair game, and at that moment, Ben could only be grateful for it. He knew that Jaster’s presence—and incredibly close proximity—would discourage the more _pointed_ questions he thought Tholme was really here to ask him.

Arla, never one to stand on ceremony, simply slid onto the bench beside Pao, pulling Quinlan down beside her and leaving Tholme to wedge himself in between his Padawan and Liika. Ben gave them a small, polite smile, about to greet them when Quinlan spoke first, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

“ _Su’cuy!_ Obi-Wan says hi, and stop avoiding Tala, and also that you should check on the tookas in your garden,” Quinlan said. “He had a dream that one of them is going to have a litter. He thinks it’s a vision.”

Ben couldn’t help himself, a bright, startled laugh escaping him before he could catch it. With that innocent statement, the tension that had been ratcheting up suddenly fell, and Ben shook his head, still smiling.

“ _Su’cuy,_ Padawan Vos. _Vor’e_ for passing on his message,” Ben answered. Quinlan nodded eagerly, his dreadlocks swaying with the motion, causing the beads on his Padawan braid—well-hidden within the rest of his dreadlocks, making it easier for him to pass as just another teen, on undercover missions—to glint in the light.

“ _N’entye,_ ” he said quickly.

Deciding it was best to stick to the safest topic of conversation for as long as possible, Ben asked, “Obi-Wan is well, then? We speak to him often enough, but it’s been a while.”

Quinlan grinned at him again. “Yeah, he’s good. It was kinda weird, at first, when he got his _beskar’gam,_ but most of us are used to it by now. He almost never takes it off, I think to get himself used to it just as much as getting the rest of us used to seeing him in it.”

Ben nodded again. “And I understand he was in _Ba’ji_ Dooku’s Makashi class last term.”

Quinlan huffed a laugh and nodded again. “Apparently they got along _really_ well. _Ba’ji_ Dooku even had him over for a lineage tea time.”

Ben’s eyebrows flew up at that, and he could feel a low thrum of confusion from the _Haat’ade_ around them, all of them listening in with varying degrees of conspicuousness.

“Did he indeed?” Quinlan nodded again. “And who was in attendance?”

“ _Ba’ji_ Dooku, obviously, and his Padawan, Komari Vosa, and _Ba’ji_ Jinn, who used to be _Ba’ji_ Dooku’s Padawan.”

Ben’s stomach twisted, his heart skipping a beat, even as he pasted another smile on his face. “Well now. All that would make that set complete would be _Ba’ji_ Yoda’s attendance, hmm?” Quinlan laughed and nodded again. “Am I to take it that _Ba’ji_ Dooku is making plans to offer an apprenticeship, then?”

Tholme jumped in to offer a diplomatic answer to that question. “There has been some consideration, on his part, but at this point, it’s impossible to tell whether Komari will be Knighted in time for that.” Ben nodded, a _bad feeling_ settling over him, buzzing against his skin.

The alternative was that Yoda was _already_ laying the groundwork for forcing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan together. _Again._

Ben knew that neither Tholme nor Quinlan had noticed his tension, but Jaster certainly had. He shifted again, moving even closer so that their legs were pressed together from hip to knee, their shoulders touching. Ben turned to flash him a grateful smile, and Jaster smiled back. _That_ the Jedi certainly did notice, and Tholme’s eyes narrowed slightly while Quinlan smirked. Ben tilted his head, wondering what that reaction could mean, but put it quickly from his mind.

He had more important things to worry about at the moment, like making sure the conversation stayed firmly on safe ground. But he only had to buy a little more time, he thought as he saw the elders starting to leave with the youngest _adiike,_ those who would be too bothered by the din of the dancing to stay. That meant they would be starting soon, and he would have the perfect excuse to exit this conversation without offending them.

Quinlan leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, propping his chin on his hands, and said, “So I know we’re here on _official_ business, but the Council asked us to talk to you about a couple of other things.” Ben quirked an eyebrow, hoping that they didn’t notice the blood draining from his face.

Quinlan was known to be a bit… direct, as was Tholme, but were they really just going to blatantly _ask_ their questions in front of everyone like this?

“Oh?” Ben managed. Quinlan nodded.

“Yeah, after they realized Obi-Wan wasn’t supposed to get his first _beskar’gam_ the way he did, they asked us to ask you if there’s anything else we need to know,” Quinlan said, and Ben hummed, relaxing slightly, though his heart was still beating a touch too fast. “Obi-Wan said something about hand-to-hand combat?”

Jaster sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to coordinate something, but it’s damnably difficult with him in the Temple all the time,” he said. “Technically, both his _beskar’gam_ and his combat training are ultimately my responsibility.”

 _Force,_ Ben was grateful for Jaster right about then, drawing their attention away from him, at least for a moment. Ben owed him a good bottle of brandy after this.

“Right,” Quinlan said slowly. “Because you’re the leader of House Mereel.”

“ _Elek._ ”

“With Bear Clan already having made a trip to Little Keldabe, perhaps his lessons could be held there,” Tholme suggested, and Jaster hummed.

“That would make the arrangements easier,” he agreed. “Many of the _Mando’ade_ there are still a bit… skittish when it comes to the idea of visiting your Temple.”

“I believe it could be done,” Tholme offered. “The Council—or at least a few of the Councilors—will likely wish to meet his prospective instructor before agreeing, and they will obviously send a Jedi escort with him, but I can see few issues with the idea.”

“That’s a relief,” Jaster said, nodding to them. “I doubt he’s behind, not with the way you _Jetiise_ train your _adiike,_ but our training is quite a bit different from yours. He’ll have to start soon, to be ready for his _verd’goten._ Now, I know some about this ‘Gathering’ that his Clan is preparing for, but not much. Something about finding a crystal for a _Jetii’kad?_ ”

Quinlan nodded again, grinning broadly. “I just had mine a couple of years ago, before I became _Ba’ji_ Tholme’s Padawan. We go to Ilum, an ice planet with huge caves full of kyber crystals…”

Ben let the familiar descriptions of Ilum wash over him, eyeing the musicians who were nearly ready to begin playing, signalling the start of the dancing, and his escape from the table. Jaster shifted again, practically plastering himself to Ben’s side, and Ben took the invitation, letting himself lean against Jaster in a way he usually only did in private, during long, tiring planning sessions, bent over a datapad together on the couch in Jaster’s office. Tholme eyed them critically, and Ben gave him a wan smile. Tholme looked away rather quickly, and Ben tucked that away, wondering what that was about. Tholme was not, to Ben’s recollection, the type to look away first.

 _Finally,_ the gong sounded again, and was quickly followed by the musicians, the drummers setting the tempo before the flutists joined in, the stringed instruments folding into the melody last, as always.

“Sorry, _burc’ya’se,_ ” Arla piped up, “but it’s about to get _really_ loud in here. We’ll talk more later, _‘lek?_ ”

Whatever response Quinlan or Tholme might have made was lost as nearly a hundred _Mando’ade_ began stomping their feet in time with the drummers. Jaster leaned even closer, speaking directly into his ear to be heard without shouting.

“If we dance, we’ll have the perfect exit for this conversation,” Jaster offered, and Ben laughed.

“ _Gar serim,_ ” he said, nodding. Jaster turned and nodded to Tholme and Quinlan before maneuvering out of the bench, waiting for Ben to follow. He turned and rose, and Jaster wasted no time in wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him off to the space around the fire that had been cleared to serve as a dance floor, joining the many of their fellow _Haat’ade_ already there.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Jaster said, and Ben huffed a laugh.

“Speak for yourself _._ ”

* * *

Mandalorian dancing was fascinating; it had Depa entirely entranced as soon as they started.

The music was wonderful, bright and cheerful, but fairly simple, which made sense. Drums and flutes were easy enough to take out into the field with you, after all, an important consideration for a Mandalorian. There were also a few stringed instruments, played mostly by bowing. It was lively, and energetic, and the heavy footfalls and _clang_ of vambraces-on-vambraces added another element to the music, a percussion of sorts on its own.

But the movements themselves were what interested Depa most. It was easiest to tell in the youngest dancers, those sticking to the basics and not adding many spins or jumps as their more experienced elders: the basics of the dance were nearly identical to hand-to-hand fighting drills. The dance became almost like a kata, both partners knowing when to step, when to move to the side, and when to hit their vambraces against the other’s, the _clanging_ of _beskar-_ on- _beskar_ punctuating the drums. There were clearly more experienced pairs who knew each other well, scattered among the younger children, who were adding flips and twists and twirls, increasing the complexity of the dance by far and showing off their combat skills.

Depa barely noticed when another cup of _tihaar_ was pressed into her hands, still enraptured by the dancers. She shouted a distracted “ _vor’e,_ ” and a familiar chuckle (deep enough and near enough to be heard, if only barely) drew her attention. She turned to smile at Master Plo, who nodded in return and then looked up at the dancers, Depa turning back to them just as eagerly.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Plo asked, his voice nearly drowned out by them, and Depa only caught what he said because he sent the intent of it into the Force as he spoke. She sent a little wave of agreement, and faintly heard him chuckle again. A moment later, her own face split into a wide grin as she saw little Pavia dragging Padawan Vos towards the dance floor.

The smile dimmed as she saw the _Mand’alor_ just behind them, an arm slung around Ben Kenobi’s shoulders. As she watched, Mereel turned to speak directly into Kenobi’s ear, and Kenobi laughed before turning to reply. Mereel smiled and shook his head.

Ben Kenobi, Depa had been told, had no _official_ title within the Mandalorian government. He was a _Haat’ad,_ and that was, supposedly, all that he was. But she had also been told that Kenobi was an advisor to the _Mand’alor’s_ Council, and every time she had seen him during her stay in the stronghold, Kenobi had either been with Mereel himself, or one of his children.

Now, Depa watched as they joined the other dancers, falling into step immediately and perfectly, and with such easy familiarity, and it all begged the question of just how close the two of them were. Not that it was any of her business, but it _was_ Master Tholme’s. If Ben Kenobi was actually the _consort_ of the _Mand’alor,_ and not simply his friend and advisor, then the Council, and Master Tholme, would likely have to choose between investigating him and remaining within the _Mand’alor’s_ good graces.

Depa did not envy him his mission, nor the report he was going to have to give to the Council on this.

“What do you think?” Plo asked, and Depa hummed, stirred from her thoughts. She turned to him, and he nodded towards the dancers. “Shall we join them?”

She hummed, considering it for a moment. Then she nodded, finished the _tihaar_ in one go, ignoring the burning the alcohol sprung forth in her throat, and curtsied to Master Plo. He rumbled another laugh, set his own empty cup down on the table behind them, and held out his arm to lead her into the joyful fray.

* * *

By the time Jango slipped into the main hall, the dancing was already underway. He’d figured it would be, and much as he’d hated to miss the meal itself, he’d gotten his fill in the kitchens. _Wayii,_ he was turning into Ben, missing dinner to pore over datapads of intel. Jango shook his head, trying to clear it. Everything he’d found had said there wasn’t an _immediate_ threat, if there even was a threat to Mandalore, though the nebulous _bad feeling_ had refused to fade.

Kark, he really _was_ turning into Ben.

Jango sighed and tried once more to turn his attention to the festivities as he entered the main hall. He was immediately met by Myles, who gave him a grumpy look to ask where he’d been, and Jango just frowned back and shook his head. Myles’s own expression became one of concern, so Jango, knowing it was too loud to be heard, used hand signs to say _not urgent. Briefing tomorrow._ Myles nodded and then pressed a cup of _tihaar_ into his hands. Jango nodded his thanks and then turned to scan the room, looking for the people most important to him. (Much as he _did_ love _yaim’ol’e,_ the way they forced high-value targets to group together was always a concern for him.)

Tholme and Arla were sitting at the table sparsely occupied by a few of the Headhunters, those who either didn’t like to dance, like Pao, or had old injuries that prevented it, like Vlek. They seemed fine, so Jango turned to his next targets. He grinned as he saw Koon and Billaba in the middle of the dancers, already looking like they were getting the hang of it.

Not far from them, _buir_ and Ben were dancing, and Jango huffed a laugh as Ben jumped, tucked, and flipped over Jaster’s head, both of them turning as he landed to _clank_ their vambraces together on the beat. Jaster looked like he was laughing, and Ben was even smiling. Jango relaxed just a bit more.

 _Ba’vodu_ Jorin was already gone, but that was no surprise to Jango. He never stayed for long, after the dancing started, and honestly preferred to leave his forge as little as possible. He always said that everyone he wanted to see would come to him, eventually, and though it was always said jokingly, Jango knew just how true it was. All of the _Haat’ade_ passed through Jorin’s forge, at one time or another, even if they weren’t House Mereel, and had their own House or Clan _goran._

Myles seemed content to let him drink for the moment, not pulling him off to dance quite yet, and Jango nudged his shoulder before nodding to Arla and Tholme. Myles nodded back, and they started making their way there. It took a while, Jango pausing to give a nod or a wave to the _Haat’ade_ they passed. 

Jango sat himself across from Arla and the _Jetii,_ Myles sliding in next to him, and Arla frowned at him, raising an eyebrow. He sighed and just waved a hand, spanning the sign for _later,_ and Arla nodded sharply. Tholme watched them with interest, though Jango knew he had no way to understand their hand signals.

Jango heard the music starting to speed up and grinned, turning his attention to the dancing. This was the fun part: the music would start to pick up, getting faster and faster, forcing the dancers to speed up themselves. The _ade_ started dropping out pair by pair, usually laughing after hitting each other accidentally, or tripping and falling. Jango and Myles sparred together often enough to know each other well, though when they were younger, they’d been right there with the rest of the clumsy _adiik’e,_ falling on their faces.

The _Jetii’ad_ ended up sprawled on the floor after his partner—Pavia, it looked like, though Jango couldn’t quite tell from this distance—slipped and ended up tackling him. Jango snickered, and Arla threw her head back and laughed. Tholme just shook his head, wearing an expression that was both amused and exasperated. Jango was familiar with that look; both Jaster and Ben wore it often.

Finally, the beat picked up enough that even the older pairs started dropping out. Most of them headed for more drinks and then began to sit back down at their tables. The dancing would continue for a while after that, but not quite so heavily. Those with _ade_ started to herd them off to sleep, though they’d be back. On _yaim’ol’e_ nights, all of the _ade_ slept in one of the larger rooms together, with a few of the older _Haat’ade_ watching over them, or those who didn’t like the rowdiness of the parties. Jango glanced at Tholme; now that there were fewer dancers stomping _beskar-_ clad feet on a stone floor, he could probably be heard easily enough.

Jango caught the _Jetii’s_ eye, and said, “If you want, your _ad_ could sleep with the rest of the clan kids tonight. That way you don’t miss too much of the party.”

Tholme hummed consideringly. “Thank you. I may take you up on that.” Jango nodded and then frowned as Arla kicked him in the shin. He looked at her and she jerked her head towards the dance floor.

The music was reaching a climax, and the last of the pairs were bowing out, both Jaster and Ben and Koon and Billaba among them. Jango’s lips twitched in a smile as he saw Jaster say something to Ben that made him laugh and shake his head; Jaster wrapped an arm around his shoulders again and led him off to retrieve another drink, neatly sidestepping any attempt by the _Jetiise_ to catch him before they left the dancefloor.

Tholme hummed, low and thoughtful, and Jango glanced at him. He was, of course, staring at Ben and Jaster, a strange grimace on his face. Jango smirked to himself and took another sip of _tihaar._ He hoped _buir_ made his claim on Ben before the _Jetiise_ left; he really wanted to see their reactions to that. Between their “no attachments” rule, and the realization that the _Mand’alor_ would also, technically, become Obi-Wan’s _buir…_ That was going to be fun to watch.

* * *

Ben didn’t protest when Jaster grabbed a bottle of _tihaar_ instead of two glasses, intent on slipping away from the party before the heavier drinking. He’d seen Jango sitting with Arla, and Tholme was sending the _Jetii’ad_ off to bunk with the other _ade_ for the night. Jaster thought that would do them good; Ob’ika had told them that _Jetii’adiik’e_ slept together in one room as well. The similarity couldn’t hurt, and would hopefully make Vos more comfortable.

Reassured that everyone was taken care of, and where they were supposed to be, Jaster couldn’t find it in him to feel badly about sneaking out early. Normally, he and Ben were among the last few standing, at the end of the night. But he could tell Ben would be happier when he was away from the _Jetiise,_ and Jaster himself would be grateful to shed the tension he felt whenever Ben was near them.

As he and Ben joined the stream of _ade_ leaving the hall, shepherded by a few elders, Jaster could feel the looks aimed at them. That was hardly unusual, but Jaster still grinned to himself, knowing they were all wondering about them.

Hopefully, soon enough, they would be making a happy announcement, and no one would have to wonder anymore.

“What are you thinking about?” Ben asked, and Jaster hummed, glancing at him and then shaking his head.

“ _Naas,_ ” he said, and Ben quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. Jaster chuckled and corrected himself: “I’ll tell you later.” Ben nodded, appeased by that.

They stopped at the turn in the hall to bid the _ade_ goodnight. The youngest had already turned in for the night, and those old enough to be nearing their _verdgoten_ were too intimidated by Jaster’s title to do much more than stutter a formal goodnight to him. Jaster endured it all with a patient smile, then turned to watching Ben.

The _ade_ had absolutely no reservations about him. He spent so much time looking after the _ade_ that they all knew him well, by now, and Jaster wished he had enough time to do the same. When he retired, he knew he would make teaching a priority. He loved the younger classes.

But for now, he simply watched with a fond smile as Ben, down on one knee, listened carefully to the chattering _ade,_ somehow keeping track of each conversation even though all of them were talking over each other. Finally, Ulda, a wizened old Bith, began herding them on their path again. Jaster didn’t miss the _look_ she gave him and Ben, and he simply smiled at her. She nodded back and took hold of a couple of small hands, dragging the _ade_ off to bed.

They made it back to their wing easily enough, though Jaster could swear he hadn’t assigned that many patrols in between the main hall and the wing for the _Aliit be’Alor._ Knowing his _verd’e_ as he did, Jaster figured they’d placed bets on where Ben was going to sleep tonight. And knowing his _ade_ as he did, he had no doubt Arla was the bookie for this round of betting.

“If you keep smiling like that, I’m going to start wondering what trap you’re marching me into,” Ben huffed, and Jaster laughed brightly, steering him towards his own rooms instead of Ben’s.

“No trap,” Jaster hummed. “It’s just been a good day. And a good evening.”

“ _Elek,_ ” Ben answered, smiling himself then. Jaster let them into his rooms, the scanner unlocking the door for them (and he might not be _drunk,_ but he was still grateful he didn’t have to fiddle with any keycards for his door). The moment the door had closed behind them, Jaster passed off the bottle to Ben and started stripping himself out of his chestplate, eager to get the tunics off. Ben laughed brightly at him and shook his head, retreating to find them glasses.

In under two minutes, Jaster was free of the uncomfortable tunics and that damned circlet. He breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of his loose, comfortable sleep clothes and then grabbed some for Ben, who was already lounging on the couch with a drink in his hand, one waiting on the table for Jaster.

He threw the sleep clothes at Ben, which he caught one handed and without looking away from his drink, and Jaster rolled his eyes, muttering to himself about showing off. Ben snorted and shook his head.

“That wasn’t so terrible,” Ben said, and Jaster hummed in agreement as he picked up his drink and slid into his usual armchair.

“ _Nayc._ I guess the key is to get you away from the _Jetiise_ before the conversation can go beyond basic pleasantries,” Jaster said, and Ben laughed.

“Who knows how long that will work.”

“I don’t think they’ll be too insistent,” Jaster said, and Ben gave him a dubious look. Jaster shrugged one shoulder and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, drink between his hands. “I think that they’re unwilling to risk relations with Mandalore over the issue. You haven’t done anything to warrant any suspicion that you’re a _dar’jetii,_ and unless you did, I don’t think they would push it.”

Not with the way Tholme had been looking at them. Jaster had known he was watching, of course, and he was fairly certain his message had gotten through. _Ben is mine,_ his actions had declared. _To get to him, you’ll have to go through me._

Ben hummed in response and took another drink of his _tihaar._ “It was… strange, seeing Quinlan again.”

“He was your friend before, wasn’t he?” Just like he was now Obi-Wan’s friend. _Osik,_ but that must be weird for Ben.

“ _‘Lek._ ”

Jaster swirled his glass and then leaned back again to take a sip of his own. He let himself focus on the burn for a moment, debating whether or not to ask his question.

“What?” Ben prompted him, and Jaster shrugged.

“Just wondering if we ever met, in your last life.”

“Oh,” Ben said softly, and Jaster already knew the answer. “We never got the opportunity.”

Well, Jaster thought, he’d already asked, and he was morbidly curious. “When did I die?”

“Last year,” Ben answered, and Jaster blinked, then frowned at him. “Montross waited longer, last time, to show his true colors. You died in an ambush on Korda 6.”

“Huh.” That was… odd. Jaster had always thought that he’d die relatively young. He’d made his peace with that long ago. To know that, without Ben, he would’ve been right… “Well, _vor entye,_ then.”

Ben snorted and shook his head, taking another drink. “ _N’entye._ ”

“Who succeeded me?” Jaster asked. Jango, probably, he thought. Ben’s face went perfectly blank, and Jaster frowned. “What?”

“I’m not going to tell you that,” Ben said flatly. “Not yet. If you truly want to know what happened to Mandalore before, I will tell you after you’ve officially nominated your successor. Not a moment before.”

Jaster’s frown deepened at that, but he nodded slowly. “Alright. I trust you.” And he could tell that, whatever had happened before, it hadn’t been good. And in the meantime… “I hate to pile this on, but… you knew Dooku?”

Ben winced, and Jaster sighed. Much as he didn’t want Ben to have to dwell on this, he thought it would be better to have it out in the open. “ _Elek._ We met several times,” Ben answered. “He was… You recall when I first got here, the story I told you?” Jaster nodded. “He was my Grand-Master. He left the Order after my Master was killed, and became a Sith Lord. We only ever met as enemies.”

Jaster blinked, and then scowled, sitting up straighter. “And you haven’t said anything to the _Jetiise?_ Or tried to keep him away from Obi-Wan?”

“ _Nayc,_ ” Ben said, giving him a slow blink and a confused little frown of his own. “He hasn’t Fallen yet.” Jaster blinked back at him.

“Right,” he sighed. “Time travel.”

“Time travel,” Ben agreed, sounding far too sagely for the amount he’d had to drink tonight, and Jaster snorted. “I refuse to hold someone accountable for something they haven’t yet done. Except for the Sith. I’m sure they’ve already done enough terrible things I can hold them accountable for, though.”

Jaster barked a startled laugh at that and shook his head. Ben smirked and drank again, and Jaster let a comfortable silence fall. He hadn’t lied; it _had_ been a good day, and a good dinner, but the tension of having Ben near the _Jetiise_ had wound him up. Now that that was dealt with, he could start to relax.

“What were you going to tell me ‘later?’” Ben asked, and Jaster hummed.

Honestly, he’d been planning to put it off for a while, asking Ben to become his _riduur._ At least until the _Jetiise_ were gone. Ben was already on edge, and emotionally fried from their presence.

But it stuck in his mind, what Ben had said: Jaster had died last year, in his last life. It made him far less inclined to waste any more time.

“Jaster?” Ben prompted, and Jaster shook his head.

“Give me a second.” Ben nodded slowly, and Jaster set his drink down, getting up to retrieve his comm. He made a mental note to stop leaving it in the other room when he undressed as he grabbed it, and then fired off a quick text-comm to Jorin before retaking his seat. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Ben, the two of them sipping at their _tihaar_ in silence.

Jorin’s answer came fairly quickly, and Jaster smiled. _Your ri’dinui will be ready by morning. I expected you to allow Ben to take it with him to Concordia._

 _Ka’ra,_ but he loved his _ba’vodu._ Jaster answered with a quick thanks and then set the commlink aside.

“It’ll be ready in the morning,” Jaster said. “I’ll show you then.” Ben’s eyes narrowed, and Jaster shook his head. “I know how you feel about surprises, but I promise, this is a good one.”

Ben stared at him for a moment longer, and then nodded slowly, taking another sip of _tihaar._ Finally, he murmured, “Alright. I trust you.”

Jaster smiled into his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben will finally hear about Pre next chapter! :D Among other things I'm excited to get to.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> ri'dinui - I made this up. Dinui means gift, and I'm saying "ri'dinui" is slang for a courting gift. Dinui be'ven'riduur sounds too long for Mandalorians, who like to shorten/contract everything all the time. That's my rationale and I'm sticking to it lol


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...what's this? A chapter that actually contains what I said it would in my note on the last chapter? And it didn't take almost two weeks to write??? Check the sky, folks. It might be falling. ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos!! I'm seriously blown away by the reception this story has gotten. You're all such awesome and supportive people and I can't get over it! :D

Plo took one look at Depa and immediately had to remind himself that she was a Knight, now, and capable of making her own choices. And her own mistakes.

It was late into the night, and the party was winding down. Tholme had excused himself once most of the dancing had finished, citing a very real case of hyperlag, though Plo also suspected that he wanted to compile the information he’d gathered so far and prepare his initial report to the Council. Plo had been content to remain in the main hall, as had Depa. Van had led him around the room, introducing him to different groups. It had been interesting to speak to members of House Mereel who were not warriors—or, rather, who were not  _ primarily  _ warriors. All were trained, Plo had learned, to a basic standard of self-defense, and that extended even to the New Mandalorians.

But tonight, Plo had met over a hundred who claimed House Mereel as theirs, and among them had been seventeen schoolteachers, eighteen  _ baar’ur’e  _ of various specialties, fourteen accountants, three chemists, a plethora of farmers (whose primary residences were not on  _ Manda’yaim  _ itself, though they came to the stronghold seasonally), and several artists of various disciplines. It had been an enlightening window into the rest of Mandalorian society. Plo was grateful that  _ Mando’ade  _ were such open people, and happy to speak of their culture and traditions. He had learned much tonight.

Depa, it seemed, had found a different way to occupy herself. The hall was far emptier than it had been, and Plo had found her easily, seated at one of the heavy wooden tables with a small group of  _ Mando’ade;  _ Plo thought he recognized most of them as  _ Haat’ade verd’e.  _ Plo could tell at a glance that she was highly intoxicated: she had one elbow on the table, her chin resting on her fist, and she was leaning up against a giant of a man Plo knew was called Pao, a member of the  _ Mand’alor’s  _ personal company. He looked bleary-eyed himself, and there were empty glasses and bottles littering the table.

Plo tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, waiting for Depa to notice him, though she seemed rather focused on simply trying to keep her head upright. Sighing, Plo reached out with the Force, and Depa startled, almost reeling back off the bench. Pao flailed to catch her rather clumsily, and then both of them were toppling back to hit the stone floor.

The entire table began laughing, and Plo could hear Depa’s wheezing chuckles as well, and he shook his head, smiling a bit himself. Plo was grateful that none of them would be able to tell.

Mace was going to owe him a rather large favor for neglecting to include this in his report to the Council.

“Knight Billaba,” Plo said evenly, when the laughter began to subside.

“We both jus’  _ lost, _ ” Depa called, pushing herself up from the floor, grinning broadly and blinking rapidly. Pao sat up beside her, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Plo hoped he wasn’t about to be sick.

“What did you lose?” Plo asked.

“The drinking contest,” another Mandalorian answered, looking far more sober and highly amused. “ _ Jetii  _ Depa here outdrank six of our heaviest guns. She and Pao were the last two standing, figuratively. And literally, I guess. That’s one of the lose conditions, falling over. Or puking, or passing out.”

“I see,” Plo said slowly. He thought, briefly, of asking just how much she had drank, but it was best not to. If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t be able to tell Mace, if asked.

“Get back up here,” another of them—Silas, Plo thought their name was—sighed, getting up to help Pao and Depa back onto the bench. He reached for a basket of bread and set it between them, then grabbed two carafes of water. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Depa nodded, and then grimaced, and slowly reached for the bread. The  _ Mando’ade  _ around them glanced at Plo, who simply sighed again and sat down across from Depa. Slowly, they went back to their own conversations, and Depa finally met his gaze, looking far less hazy than she had only a moment ago. With a little smirk, she bit into the bread, and sent a little tendril of intent into the Force:  _ something-interesting-need-to-talk.  _

Plo tipped his head in acknowledgement and smiled beneath his breather; Depa always had been clever, and liquor plied secrets rather nicely. Perhaps he would include this in his report after all.

* * *

Ben woke slowly, awareness coming to him little by little in a way his instincts usually did not allow. But he supposed it helped that the first thing he became aware of was a sense of  _ safe-calm-comfortable-content. _

It took him a ridiculously long time to realize that those were not just his  _ own  _ feelings. Eventually, the weight of an arm thrown over him, a warm body at his back, processed in his still half-asleep mind, and memory returned.

He was in Jaster’s rooms again.

They hadn’t gotten nearly as drunk as they had the other night, but it had still seemed like such an  _ effort  _ to trek all the way back to his house, so when Jaster suggested bunking together again, Ben had agreed easily. Why he hadn’t gone just across the hall to his  _ own  _ room, well… Something about Jaster’s presence seemed to help keep the nightmares at bay. They had been better, less frequent and far less intense than they used to be, thanks to Tala’s help. But the arrival of the Jedi on Mandalore seemed to have thrown his mental stability on its head again, for all the progress he’d managed to make in the past few years—

“You’re thinking a lot for someone who literally just woke up,” Jaster rumbled behind him, voice still rough with sleep. Ben huffed a laugh.

“This is becoming a habit,” he returned, and Jaster huffed a sound that might have been a laugh against the nape of his neck.

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

Ben hummed and pushed himself up, Jaster letting him go and rolling onto his back, though he made no move to get up yet. Ben turned a raised eyebrow on him.

“Despite what everyone seems to think, I am not, in fact, entirely oblivious,” he said lightly. “I’ve heard the rumors, as I’m sure you have, and this certainly isn’t going to help matters.” Not that Jaster himself had been doing anything to attempt to quell the rumors; all it would take, Ben knew, was one word from him, and the speculative whispers of the  _ Haat’ade  _ would stop. Why Jaster hadn’t corrected them, or simply ordered them to stop, Ben didn’t know.

Jaster just sighed softly and shook his head before sitting up himself. His lips twitched in a smile as he looked at Ben, and he reached up to gently push back a stray lock of Ben’s hair that had gotten mussed in his sleep, and was now falling into his eyes. Ben didn’t move, simply blinking slowly at Jaster, mind still too muddled from sleep to know what to make of that.

“I have to pick something up this morning,” Jaster said in lieu of an answer as he drew his hand back, and Ben tilted his head.

“The ‘good surprise’ you promised?”

“ _ ‘Lek. _ I’ll be back shortly, so don’t wander off.”

Ben laughed. “I don’t know where you think I’ll be going besides the kitchen, where I can sense a sachet of tea calling to me.”

Jaster grinned back and shook his head, a bit of  _ fond exasperation  _ filtering through his shields. Ben smiled and decided that he’d lazed enough, hauling himself out of bed. He didn’t bother to get dressed, or put on shoes or socks, appreciating the way the slight chill of the stone floor on his bare feet helped wake him up. Jaster changed quickly, smiling broadly as he strapped on his  _ beskar’gam,  _ and Ben chuckled to himself. Jaster  _ hated  _ formal tunics, and that on top of the circlet he’d been badgered into wearing the night before must have driven him crazy. It was probably a great relief to be back in his  _ beskar’gam  _ today.

Jaster led the way out of his rooms, pausing at the door and giving Ben another smile, his eyes bright; just as reflexively as ever, the expression brought an answering smile to Ben’s face.

“Meet me back here, after you have your tea.” Ben nodded slowly, trying not to think too much about what this “surprise” could be. Something for Obi-Wan, perhaps? Jaster had said it was something good, though why he was insisting on keeping it a secret when he knew how Ben felt about surprises was— “Stop that.”

Ben raised an eyebrow again. “What?”

Jaster huffed and shook his head. “Brooding.”

“I was  _ not _ —”

“You were. You  _ woke up  _ brooding.” Ben couldn’t quite argue with that, so he selected the most appropriate response he could come up with before tea, and rolled his eyes. Jaster laughed again and shook his head. “Go, have your tea. Then come—”

“Back here,” Ben finished, nodding. “Alright.”

Jaster gave him another smile and a lingering look, a gleam in his eyes that Ben didn’t know how to interpret, before turning back to the door to greet the morning.

* * *

Ben had beat Jaster back to his rooms, and Jaster paused just inside the door to look at him. Ben was curled up on the couch again, his legs tucked up underneath him, a teacup in his hands, the kettle from the kitchen sitting on the table, and still dressed in Jaster’s sleep clothes. His hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up at a few odd angles, but his eyes were clear and bright.

It hit Jaster, then, that if everything went well, this could be the sight he was greeted with  _ every  _ morning.

“Jaster?” Ben called, sounding somewhat concerned, and Jaster shook his head. He glanced down at the box he was carrying, looking around for somewhere to set it, and then shrugged and went to put it on top of the dresser in his bedroom. Jaster could feel Ben’s gaze on him as he moved through his rooms, and he grinned to himself.

Now, or later?

Later, Jaster decided with a sigh. Duty came first, as always. He went back out into the sitting room and took his usual place in the armchair, ignoring the suspicious look Ben was giving him.

“After,” Jaster said firmly. “There’s some official business to take care of, first.” Ben nodded slowly, his expression smoothing out into what Jaster thought of as his “ _ Jetii  _ face.” The one that said,  _ trust me, I’m very competent, but not so competent as to be threatening. _

Jaster knew what a lie that face was, and how threatening Ben could be when he set his mind to it. He grinned to himself again, but the expression faded quickly as he thought about what he was going to have to say.

Best to get it over with.

“Before Adonai left for Sundari, he brought Ursa Wren before me. He was sponsoring her petition against House Vizsla,” Jaster said, and Ben’s neutrality was washed away. He frowned, sitting up straighter, his hands tightening just a bit around his teacup. “Specifically, against Kes Vizsla for her treatment of Pre.”

There was a flash of something… heavy, and complicated, in Ben’s eyes, his lips pursing, and Jaster wondered if he’d known Kes or Pre before. Or even Ursa, or Adonai. But after the answer he’d gotten when he asked about himself, Jaster didn’t really think he wanted to know.

“What was the claim?” Ben asked, voice soft but threaded with durasteel.

“Pre is ‘Force sensitive,’ as you say it,” Jaster said, and Ben paled slightly. Jaster nodded. “They haven’t dealt with it well. First they put him in full  _ beskar’gam,  _ and now they’ve graduated to binders, from the Old Wars. Out of their own armory.”

Ben was perfectly still for a moment, and then he took a long, slow breath, closing his eyes. “That makes a terrible amount of sense.”

Jaster frowned. “How so?”

“I… met Pre, before,” Ben answered, opening his eyes and looking down into his tea, eyes unfocused. “He was… unstable. And the bond he had with the Darksaber… It was terrible and Dark, but they had a bond stronger than what I had thought possible for one who wasn’t Force sensitive. That makes sense, if he is.”

Jaster’s frown deepened as he processed that, the pieces of what Ben had told him starting to fall into place: Montross had succeeded, and Jaster had died, presumably without claiming the  _ Dha’Kad.  _ That would have left it in Tor’s hands, and then Pre’s. That much made sense.

“What does his instability have to do with it?” Jaster asked, and Ben hummed, looking up and refocusing on Jaster. He frowned, but it was one of his thoughtful ones, one that said that he was just trying to figure out a good analogy for describing something a Force null wouldn’t understand. Jaster relaxed slightly, hoping he hadn’t stirred up too many bad memories with this.

“The Force is often likened to an extra sense,” Ben said slowly. “Which is true, but it’s also more complicated than that. It also enhances all of our other senses. The world is just… vastly different, when you can look at it through the Force. To have that sense taken away completely and abruptly is… difficult. Imagine being blinded. Then, you get your sight back, only to be blinded again, and then you go through that in an endless loop. But all the while, everyone else insists you should still be able to see.”

Jaster nodded slowly, grimacing. When put like that, Jaster could understand how it was literal torture. He’d trusted Ben, when he’d insisted that it was, but he hadn’t really  _ understood.  _ He still didn’t think he ever could, because he didn’t have that sense, but his understanding now was great enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Torture  _ is  _ an explanation for instability,” Jaster said ruefully, and Ben nodded grimly.

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked carefully, tone perfectly level.

“I’m sending you,” Jaster said, and Ben blinked at him, and then frowned, brow furrowing. “And Jango.”

“They hate me,” Ben said flatly.

“I know. But even they wouldn’t dare touch you, not when you’re my—” Jaster caught himself at the last moment, stopping himself from saying something he shouldn’t, yet. Ben caught the slight pause and tilted his head slightly, curiously. “— _ aliit. _ ”

“Be that as it may,” Ben sighed, “I fear the chances of a diplomatic solution will be rather slim. It may come down to a Challenge.”

Jaster grimaced, but nodded. He’d realized that, and hoped that even if it did come to that, Kes was willing to yield, because he had no doubt of Ben winning. But then they also had to hope that the rest of Clan and House Vizsla didn’t Challenge her in turn, if she did yield. And if she didn’t… Her death might be enough to spark violence when they were just starting to really settle into peacetime.

It was an ugly thought, but unavoidable. Jaster could not stand by when he had enough proof that there was an  _ adiik  _ who needed their help.

“But there may be another solution,” Ben said slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ll need to speak to Jorin and Adonai, to ensure it’s possible. When are we leaving?”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion,” Jaster said, waving a hand. “I’m sending Arla out on the next trip to Sundari, so Jango will be available to leave whenever you are.” Ben nodded slowly, and Jaster nodded back. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Jaster mostly wanting to let that tension peter out before he let Ben see the  _ ri’dinui.  _ He shifted slightly in his seat, mingled nerves and excitement getting the better of him for a moment, and Ben gave him another curious look.

“Alright, alright,” Jaster said, grinning at him. “I won’t make you wait any longer. Come on.”

Ben set his tea down, and Jaster led the way into the bedroom.

* * *

Tholme knew that he was on thin ice, here. He had realized, of course, that Ben Kenobi was quite a bit closer to the  _ Mand’alor  _ than they had initially been led to think, though if the gossip of the other Mandalorians was to be believed, nothing had actually happened between them yet. That could be true, Tholme acknowledged, or they could simply be very discrete. He was rather leaning towards the latter; Tholme had studied Mandalore prior to coming, of course, but his grasp of their culture was still rudimentary. Even so, he could still think of at least a dozen social and political issues that could arise from the king of Mandalore publicly marrying a man who was well-known to be a “former Jedi.”

Tholme had his doubts about that, too, though he was starting to understand why Knight Billaba believed it. He had sat across from the man for over half an hour and felt  _ nothing  _ from him in the Force. A quick brush against his presence had revealed the complex, admittedly  _ daunting  _ shields the man seemed to maintain effortlessly, and Tholme agreed that that level of skill in the mental arts was virtually impossible to reach without extensive training. But whether or not he had learned from a  _ Jedi  _ was still in question, hence Tholme’s mission.

The mission he was likely to have to abandon, or become very, very stealthy in pursuing, or risk the wrath of the  _ Mand’alor. _

He sighed, feeling a headache coming on. It was still fairly early in the morning, but Tholme was already itching to get his Padawan back. He could sense through their bond that Quinlan was fine, and had even felt a few bursts of  _ amusement-happiness  _ from him the night before when he'd been with the other children, so it wasn’t that he was concerned for his safety. But it did seem like Quinlan had wanted to tell him something important the night before, though they hadn’t gotten the chance to speak.

Giving up on going back to sleep, Tholme rose from his bed, heading to the kitchen to begin rummaging through the well-stocked cupboards and preserver, looking for something that didn’t look like it would burn his tongue off. Grumbling to himself, Tholme flipped on the caff machine and finally settled on a package of oats that seemed to have no spice to them. He hoped, anyway.

He was still in the middle of cooking when Quinlan returned. He could hear Quinlan’s heavy footfalls, and he wondered where he was going, and why he hadn’t stopped to say hello. He turned slightly and caught sight of Quinlan bounding towards Tholme’s room.

“Padawan?”

“I need to touch  _ everything! _ ” Quinlan shouted back, and Tholme grimaced. He took the pan off of the burner and set it aside, chasing after his Padawan.

“ _ Quinlan Vos, _ ” Tholme snapped, folding his arms over his chest. Quinlan winced and turned around, in the middle of tearing off his second glove. “Explain yourself.”

“Obi-Wan and his dad lived here, for a while,” Quinlan told him. Tholme blinked at him. “I knew they’d stayed near the  _ baar’ur’e _ —the Healers—when they first got here. Obi-Wan’s dad was grounded for a while, I guess. He was in some sort of treatment program for the first few years, right up until a few months before they went to Coruscant to give Obi-Wan to us. Master, that echo that I picked up with the nightmare—I  _ knew  _ there was something familiar about the feeling of it, and I was right! Arla told me yesterday that they stayed in the same rooms we’re in now.”

Tholme frowned thoughtfully. Most of the time, an echo wouldn’t be strong enough after a few years to be felt very keenly, but Quinlan was particularly talented (or cursed, depending on your point of view, and the kind of day Quinlan was having) in that aspect. And imprints left by other Force sensitives were always stronger than those left by Force nulls, and were even stronger still if the emotions they’d been feeling at the time were extreme highs or lows.

He nodded slowly, and Quinlan beamed at him, but then Tholme held up a hand. “I agree that the idea has merit, Padawan. But first, we will eat breakfast, and you will tell me where you were yesterday, and what you learned. After that, we will meditate together, and  _ then  _ we will see what you can find.”

Quinlan deflated, his smile fading and his shoulders drooping, but he nodded and reached for the glove he'd already discarded onto the floor. “Yes, Master.”

* * *

Mandalorian marriage customs differed from House to House, and sometimes even from Clan to Clan within the same House. But they all included the same two basic elements: saying the  _ riduurok  _ and an armor gift. Many times, the armor was exchanged after the marriage itself was sealed by the  _ riduurok,  _ and most commonly, they simply traded pieces of their own armor. Usually it was a vambrace; even the New Mandalorians wore that much  _ beskar’gam,  _ to honor the  _ Resol’nare,  _ and continued that tradition with their own marriages. Other times, the armor was a gift, crafted new.

Within Clan and House Mereel, it was traditional to propose with an armor gift. Ben was well aware of that fact. And as he stared at the upper  _ beskar’gam  _ in front of him, Ben also knew there was no way he could deny that a proposal was what this signified.

It was a full chest piece, split in two with a full delineation between the plates and the  _ kar’ta,  _ just as Ben preferred. Below them, however… The plates were slim, overlapping and interlocking. Ben could already tell that it would provide even greater flexibility than his current  _ beskar’gam,  _ which hadn’t been  _ quite  _ ideal, but was more than serviceable, especially given how little Ben actually used his lightsaber these days in true combat. And, from the feel of it in the Force, it was a  _ beskar- _ cortosis alloy. _That_ was difficult to come by.

It was designed with him in mind, and that alone made Ben flush. But more than that… Jaster had painted it for him already to match the rest of his  _ beskar’gam:  _ stripes of orange around the edges, the rest primarily green, except for the sigil on the left side. Ben’s pulse picked up as he took it in: it wasn’t quite as large as the sigil on Jaster’s own  _ beskar’gam,  _ but there sat a mythosaur skull in white. It would sit atop his heart, when he wore it, and there was only one meaning behind that symbol, with that placement, in that color, and of that size.

That was reserved for the  _ Alor’riduur. _

Ben was suddenly aware that Jaster was still standing just behind him, waiting patiently for a reaction. For an answer. To his  _ proposal. _

“It’s beautiful _ , _ ” Ben said, the first thing that came to mind. He reached out a hand, touching his fingertips to the sigil, and—

_ Ben sat on the porch, the gently steaming mug of tea between his hands warding off the slight chill of the evening. It would be winter, soon, and time to go back to Keldabe. But not quite yet. _

_ Ben leaned a little more into Jaster, who hummed and threw an arm around him. Neither of them said anything, content to watch the three of their  _ ade  _ roughhousing in the tall grass. Arla tried to sweep out Maul’s legs from underneath him, but wasn’t anywhere near fast enough, now that he was getting the hang of hand-to-hand fighting with the aid of the Force, and Maul retaliated by driving his shoulder into her stomach, knocking her down. Feral immediately ran over and sat on her, and Maul sighed and shook his head while Arla let out an “oof” loud enough to be heard on the porch. _

_ “Not like that,  _ vod’ika, _ ” he said. “You’re meant to use the **Force** to restrain her.” _

_ “You didn’t tell me  _ **_that!_ ** _ You just said to hold her down!” _

_ Jaster chuckled at the playful argument, and Ben smiled softly and took another sip of his tea. He would need to go inside shortly to make another cup, and he mentally went through his limited stores. The cinnabark tea would be good on an evening like this, he decided. That was the one thing he missed about Keldabe, living on far more rural Concord Dawn. There wasn’t a single tea importer on the planet, and he had checked. Twice. _

_ Perhaps, Ben mused, he should become one. Minlaan wasn’t terribly far, and the university was housed there, after all. Since they had opened up the teaching rotations to  _ aruetiise,  _ there might even be enough of a client base to support it _ —

_ “Stop that,” Jaster murmured into his ear, and Ben huffed. _

_ “I wasn’t brooding,” he protested, and Jaster scoffed. “I truly wasn’t, this time.” _

_ “What were you thinking about so intently, then?” _

_ Ben smiled and turned his head to rest on Jaster’s chest. “Tea.” _

_ Jaster laughed, and Ben’s smile grew at the low rumble in his chest, his ear pressed against it. “Ben _ —”

“ **Ben.** ”

His vision abruptly cleared, leaving him staring at Jaster's face. Jaster had a hand on the back of his neck, his features tight with concern.

“ _ Me’vaar ti gar? _ ” Jaster asked, and Ben blinked at him.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly.

“A vision?” Ben nodded, and Jaster frowned. “A bad one?”

“Not at all,” Ben said slowly. It had been… good, actually.

They could be very happy.  _ Ben  _ could be happy. And  _ Maul _ —

Ben looked back to the  _ beskar’gam,  _ and Jaster’s hand tightened ever-so-slightly on the back of his neck, though his hold was still gentle. He eyed it for a moment, then turned back to Jaster. “Why now?”

Jaster smiled at him. “I’ve had that ready since after Saleucami. All I needed to do was paint it.” Ben blinked at him.

“That was three years ago.” Jaster chuckled.

“So it was. I’ve known since then; I was just waiting on you.”

“Waiting on me?” Ben repeated, feeling a bit slow. Jaster hummed and nodded.

“Waiting on you to trust me,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Ben said. He let that sit for a moment, and then ever so slowly, he reached up to put his hands on either side of Jaster’s face. He gently pulled Jaster down until their foreheads met in a  _ kov'nyn, _ letting his eyes fall shut. The image of that porch came back to him, the field of grass swaying in the wind,  _ their children  _ out front sparring, came back to him, and Ben grinned.

He had concerns, some of them rather serious. Ben knew that Jaster would not have asked if he wasn’t confident that he could handle the political repercussions of the match, but Ben also knew he hadn’t been thinking of the political and social repercussions among the Jedi—couldn’t even  _ know  _ of all of the potential consequences among the Jedi.  And some of Ben’s… other enterprises might need to be reworked, but…

They could be so  _ happy,  _ and everything in that vision had felt so  _ Light. _

Ben thought of that morning, of waking up with Jaster and feeling so at ease; he thought of the night before, and dismissing the idea of sleeping alone because he’d  _ wanted  _ to stay with Jaster, where he was more comfortable than he ever was alone. He thought of the way Jaster had not so subtly protected him from the Jedi. He thought of the way Jaster made sure to keep his tea stocked in the kitchen reserved for the  _ Aliit be’Alor,  _ even though everyone else detested it.

Ben realized, all at once and yet without a hint of surprise, that he and Jaster had been building towards this for years.

Ben murmured, “I think I’d like to make the selfish choice, for once, and damn the consequences.”

Jaster huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking over the back of Ben’s neck. “Is that your way of saying yes?”

Ben chuckled in return, and then took a deep breath. “ _ Elek.  _ I’m saying yes.”

They drew back slightly, and Ben opened his eyes. Jaster gave him a brilliant smile, eyes warm and open and kind just as they always were, and Ben smiled back, and then consciously noted the fact that he couldn’t help  _ but _ smile back most of the time, when Jaster smiled at him.

Jaster pulled him back in, and Ben went easily. He let his eyes flutter closed again as Jaster brought their lips together, both of them still smiling. Jaster pulled back first, but not too far, and leaned their foreheads together again. They stood together like that for a long moment—how long, exactly, Ben didn’t know, content to drift in the heady  _ bliss-happiness-hope-Light  _ in the Force around and between them.

Jaster’s commlink chirping pulled them back to reality, and Jaster huffed. He pulled back, still grinning, and sighed. “Duty calls.”

Ben nodded back. “And I have a  _ goran  _ to see.”

Jaster leaned in once more to press a kiss to his forehead, then took a full step back and answered his comm. It was just Liika, making her usual morning comm to confirm the agenda for the morning briefing. Ben turned away, looking back at his new  _ beskar’gam.  _ He glanced once more at Jaster, and then reached out to touch it carefully. There was no vision this time, only a sense of  _ rightness _ and _warmth_ ,  and Ben smiled.

They had a chance. They  _ all  _ had a chance—even Maul and his brothers. The future was always in motion, that much was true, but Ben fully intended to do as much as he could to ensure  _ that  _ was the future that would come to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes:
> 
> First about the whole sexuality thing. I myself am a very HL pansexual, so while I definitely love and support ace people doing their thing, I literally can't understand it. Like, I can sort of imagine what you're talking about, but for me, attraction, love, and sex all go in the same basket and I just can't get my head around the idea of not ever being attracted to people. So I'm pretty sure you can read the Jaster/Ben in this fic as demi or ace, but some of my own perspective might bleed through here and there, if that makes sense. I just wanted to capture a quieter and sweeter sort of relationship with them, one that's more about emotional intimacy than sex itself. Since there won't be any on-screen sex, just physical affection, you can headcanon them as having lots of it, having none of it, and everything in-between.
> 
> Second, just a note about Plo: he is the ultimate dad. That includes being stern sometimes. And my headcanon for this fic is that Plo was a sort of mentor to Mace, so he got to know Depa pretty well while she was his Padawan. So he's known her since she was a teeny tiny eleven-year-old, which definitely helped bring out papa bear. ;)
> 
> Third... YES, we are having a wedding! :D Honestly, I thought that without the Force's intervention, Ben would have said no. I didn't want Jaster to have to convince him, since I don't think he would. A no is a no, and Jaster would've respected that. So I, with my magical author powers, arranged the circumstances so that Ben could say yes when he wanted to instead of saying no because he thought he should. #theforcedoesn'tworklikethat (I know it doesn't but the Force is the greatest built-in writing crutch, LOL.)
> 
> UPDATED NOTE: I'm trying to embed an HTML image, so we'll see how this works? I'm not very good at this, LOL.
> 
> A reference for the smaller plates on Ben's armor, I was thinking something like this (the back plate on the left): 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! :D I'm alive, and writing. Or, well, trying to write. Real Life has been crazy lately, and this chapter has been fighting me.
> 
> I'm calling this one "Proposal Reactions Part 1," lol, since there will be a part 2 to this. I just wanted to post what I had done already since it's been so long since I updated!
> 
> Thank you so so much for your comments and kudos! I'll be straight with you: I've never written romance before. This fic and The Lesson are my first attempts at it, so I'm glad you all liked the proposal scene!! :D
> 
> I also love hearing all of your different perspectives on sexuality and relationships. It's so interesting to me, and actually helpful for trying to understand other perspectives. :) I appreciate that a lot!!

“ _ Urgh. _ ” Quinlan let out a noise of frustration, setting the cup he’d been holding in his bare hands down on the table with a little more force than necessary. They’d tried Tholme’s room, once Ben Kenobi’s, and then Obi-Wan’s old room again, and then the living room, and the kitchen, but… “I’m not getting  _ anything,  _ Master. Just more imprints of Obi-Wan’s signature. But… different.”

Tholme hummed, considering that. “We know that shielding lessens the probability of any echoes being left behind, and Ben Kenobi does have exceptional shields.” Quinlan nodded, still scowling at the cup. “Obi-Wan was very young, and untrained, when they stayed here. It’s not surprising that his presence is more easily felt, and different from the way it feels now, after he received training.”

“I guess,” Quinlan said slowly. Something about this was still bothering him. Quinlan  _ knew  _ what Obi-Wan felt like in the Force. The nightmare he’d picked up— _ that  _ had definitely been an echo left behind by his friend. But these other traces… They felt like Obi-Wan, the same  _ essence,  _ but… different. Not quite the same.  _ Almost  _ like it was another person, even. But he didn’t know why that would be, or how to properly express that to his Master.

“It was worth a try,” Tholme said, “but it looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. The good news is that our first meeting for the negotiations is set for this afternoon, and there was some discussion of Kenobi joining us.”

Quinlan nodded again, still glowering at the damn cup. Tholme sighed and stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Maybe I could find something he’s touched more recently,” Quinlan suggested, and Tholme sighed again.

“I allowed this because they would be older echoes, if you did find any, and likely to be weak enough that you wouldn’t get stuck,” Tholme said flatly. “But something more recent… No, Padawan. That’s not a good idea. Not when there is no Jedi mind healer available to us if you  _ do  _ get caught in a strong echo.”

Quinlan huffed and folded his arms over his chest, and Tholme squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go and making to sit down at the table beside him.

“Let’s turn our attention to other matters, for now,” Tholme said. “Do you have the agenda for the meeting this afternoon?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Let’s read through it together, and decide on our strategy for each talking point.” Quinlan huffed again, shaking his head, but he obediently stood.

“Let me go get my datapad, and my gloves.” Tholme nodded, pulling out his own datapad to go over the files. Quinlan returned to Tholme’s bedroom, where he’d left his gloves. They were lying on the bed, and Quinlan slipped them on quickly.

Then he turned to eye the window. It looked out over the gardens, and Quinlan had heard something from Arla about Ben Kenobi having a house not far away…

“Padawan?” Tholme called from the kitchen.

“I can’t find my ‘pad,” Quinlan yelled back. “Just give me a few minutes!”

“Fine, but please take more care in the future not to misplace it. Most of the data on there is classified,” Tholme returned. Quinlan rolled his eyes to himself, calling back an appropriately contrite-sounding “yes, Master,” as he went to the window. As quietly as he could, he unlocked it, slid it open, and slipped through into the gardens.

Now to find the right house...

* * *

Arla liked Quinlan. She’d felt like she’d known him before they even met, from the stories Obi-Wan told her about the trouble the  _ ad  _ got up to in the Temple. Those were stories he didn’t share with his  _ buir,  _ or with Jaster, or even Jango; those stories were only for her, as he knew that she would appreciate his friend’s mischievousness in a way the others couldn’t. Her  _ vod’ika  _ had always been far too serious, and not very talkative, but Arla had always had a bit of a  _ wicked  _ streak. Quinlan had sounded like a younger Arla, to her, when Obi-Wan spoke of him. Personally, after meeting him, she thought he was cleverer than she was, but they did share that same vein of  _ wickedness. _

It was no hardship to watch him, and try to keep Quinlan—and, hopefully, his  _ Ba’ji  _ by extension—away from Ben as much as possible. The  _ ad  _ was charming, and he  _ did  _ have great stories.

So when Myles commed her, knowing it was too early to reach Jango, and told her that the security camera outside the  _ Jetiise’s  _ room had picked up the  _ ad  _ climbing out the window and into the garden, Arla told him she’d handle it. She knew without a doubt that his  _ Ba’ji  _ didn’t know what Quinlan had been planning, and wondered if he’d realized his  _ ad  _ was gone yet. She made a mental note to get all the  _ Jetiise’s  _ comm frequencies for situations like this, and then decided that Tholme would have to wait.

Arla already knew where Quinlan was headed, though she didn’t know if he knew exactly where he was going yet. She had told him herself that Ben kept a small house on the other side of the gardens from the stronghold proper, yes, but not which one. And she hadn’t described it in any great detail, so how would he know which house was Ben’s?

Presumably, all she had to do was go to Ben’s house and wait for Quinlan to show up. Ben probably wouldn’t be there; he’d stayed with  _ buir  _ again, the night before. That brought another smirk to Arla’s lips, and she turned the corner to Ben’s house—

Quinlan was already there, standing in the small garden out front, staring down at the empty bench.

“ _ Su’cuy,  _ Quinlan,” she greeted him, and he looked up, blinked at her, and then looked back down again, a strange expression on his face.

“Obi-Wan was right,” he said, and Arla frowned at him.

“Right about what?”

“The tookas,” he said, and Arla blinked. Quinlan gestured to the bench in front of him, and Arla walked a bit farther up the path, and then hummed in understanding. They were lying under the bench, so she’d missed them before, but there were two tookas, one bright orange with white stripes, and the other a solid dark grey.

“The grey one’s going to have a litter,” Quinlan continued, pointing at the tooka.

“How do you know that?” Arla asked, knowing the answer was probably going to involve the Force, somehow. Could he talk to the tookas? Ben did that sometimes, especially with strills. Though he claimed they didn’t actually communicate in  _ words,  _ just impressions and feelings.

“I can sense the kits,” Quinlan said slowly. Then he frowned faintly, his eyes glazing over, and Arla thought he might be using the Force. He sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t tell how many, though.”

“Huh,” Arla said, and then she frowned. “Are Obi-Wan’s visions often right?”

“I don’t really know,” Quinlan answered slowly, finally looking back at her. He gaze slid over until he was looking over her shoulder, and he smiled and started waving. Arla turned around and froze.

It was Ben, coming up the path, and then he stopped short as he looked at them. He had his  _ buy’ce _ —the  _ beskar  _ one—under his arm, so Arla saw him raise his eyebrows at the two of them, standing in his garden, but what caught her attention was his  _ beskar’gam. _

His chestplate was different. It blended in perfectly with the rest of his armor, the paint a meticulous match, except for one difference: the white mythosaur skull over his heart. Wearing  _ that  _ only meant one thing.

Arla let out a squeal and then strode over to throw herself at Ben, who rocked slightly, but didn’t let them fall. He held her in the arm not holding his  _ buy’ce  _ and squeezed gently before letting her go. He was smiling softly, the kind of content, peaceful smile she’d rarely ever seen from him before, and Arla beamed at him.

“ _ Mar’e! _ ” she said, and Ben laughed, shaking his head.

“I take it you approve, then?” he asked, smirking at her, his eyes bright. Arla rolled her eyes, still smiling broadly enough to make her cheeks hurt.

“Of course I do,” she answered, and Ben’s smile turned softer again; he nodded to her before turning to Quinlan.

“ _ Su’cuy, _ ” Ben greeted him, and Quinlan smiled back, though he looked confused. “Is there something you needed?”

Quinlan waved a hand at the tookas again. “Obi-Wan was right. One of the tookas is going to have a litter. The grey one.”

“I see,” Ben said slowly, and then he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Did  _ Ba’ji  _ Tholme excuse you from the meeting later?”

Quinlan’s expression turned somewhat guilty, then, and Arla snickered. She knew she’d been right about him sneaking out. “No,” Quinlan finally admitted, and Ben smiled at him again.

“Well, we have three hours yet before it’s set to begin,” Ben told him. “That should be enough time for you to prepare, hmm?”

“Yes,” Quinlan agreed, a touch sullenly, and Arla grinned to herself. Quinlan really was like her, chafing at the idea of going to  _ meetings  _ when they could be exploring. She wondered if his  _ Ba’ji would  _ excuse him, if they offered to put Quinlan in classes with the other Clan  _ ade  _ while Tholme conducted their official business. Maybe she’d suggest it to  _ buir. _

That word,  _ buir,  _ triggered another thought, and Arla wondered, then, if Ben would adopt her and Jango. Maybe, maybe not. They were both adults already, even if they were still in their apprenticeships. But knowing Ben, he’d probably want to anyway. Arla couldn’t keep in another laugh as she realized a beat later that Jaster was going to get his way after all, adopting Ob’ika.  _ Oh. _

“Obi-Wan,” Arla said abruptly, and Ben and Quinlan both turned to her, Quinlan frowning and Ben still smiling slightly.

“I know,” Ben murmured, and then gestured to the house. “I just came by to pick up a few things, and then I’m meeting Jaster in the comms center.” Arla nodded, satisfied that Obi-Wan would be given the good news soon. She glanced at Quinlan again, who was eyeing Ben’s  _ beskar’gam  _ with a furrowed brow. He likely didn’t understand what was going on, but that was alright. They’d explain it later.

“I’ll get you back to your  _ Ba’ji, _ ” Arla told Quinlan, and he gave her a nod and a smile that was clearly forced. Arla smirked back at him and raised an eyebrow. He flushed and looked back at Ben, darting another glance at his  _ beskar’gam  _ and the new sigil.

“ _ Vor’e, _ ” Ben told her, pretending not to notice Quinlan’s scrutiny. “Meet us in the comms center, after that, if you would. We had meant to tell you, Jango, and Obi-Wan at the same time.” Arla nodded.

“ _ ‘Lek,  _ Ben.” She darted forward to give him another quick hug, and then stepped back. “Come on,  _ ad’ika.  _ Let’s get you back to your  _ Ba’ji. _ ”

* * *

_ Jas’buir was already up, nursing a cup of caff and frowning thoughtfully at a datapad. He was probably working, Obi-Wan knew, in spite of the  _ baar’ur’e’s  _ orders. _

_ “ _ Jate vaar'tur,  _ Jas’buir, _ ”  _ Obi-Wan mumbled, heading straight for the caff machine. _

_ “ _ Jate vaar’tur, ad’ika,”  _ Jaster returned, looking up from the datapad and raising an eyebrow at him. “I made tea, if you’d prefer.” _

_ Obi-Wan hummed, and then decided that  _ **_more_ ** _ caffeine couldn’t hurt. “ _ Vor’e.  _ I’ll have both, I think.” Jaster huffed and shook his head. _

_ “On your own head be it,  _ ad’ika.  _ Ben won’t like that. Neither will Bant.” _

_ “Well, if you don’t tell them, I won’t tell  _ Ben’bu  _ that you’re working,” Obi-Wan returned, opting to down the caff like a shot. The tea, however, he would prefer to savor. _

_ Jaster scowled at him, and Obi-Wan smiled sweetly in return. Jaster shook his head, the scowl fading away, and he sighed. “Fine. Ben’s out front, meditating. He said you’re welcome to join him.” Obi-Wan nodded. _

_ “I think I will,” he hummed. “After tea, of course.” _

_ Jaster smiled, exasperated and fond. “Of course.” Obi-Wan slid into the seat across from Jaster, and his  _ buir  _ immediately turned off the datapad. He could always tell when Obi-Wan was _ — _ or, more often, decidedly was  _ **_not_ ** — _ in the mood to interact with other sentients in the morning. “How’s your  _ Ba’ji  _ doing?” _

_ “Better,” Obi-Wan said, smiling softly. “He’s happier, now, for having stepped fully away from the Council. He’s taken on several teaching rotations.” _

_ Jaster smiled at that. “Ben said he was making noise about joining us for the new year’s celebrations in Keldabe. Do you think he will?” _

_ “I think so, if the Clan he took to Ilum returns in enough time,” Obi-Wan said, and Jaster nodded. They lapsed into comfortable silence, after that, as Obi-Wan sipped at his tea and tried to give the caffeine time to jolt his sleep-sluggish brain into wakefulness. He sat up straighter as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, fast and loud, and he smiled to himself. His youngest  _ vod’ika  _ was awake, then. He’d gotten in too late the night before to see anyone besides his  _ buir’e.  _ Confirmation came a moment later, Feral bounding towards him. Obi-Wan stood and braced himself for impact, waiting for his  _ vod’ika  _ to crash into him as he always did. _

_ “Obi-Wan!” _

“ **Obi-Wan!** ”

He jerked in a breath, blinking rapidly as his vision cleared.  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu was staring down at him, frowning and radiating concern in the Force, and Obi-Wan was… lying on the floor?

_ Oh.  _ Obi-Wan vaguely remembered being in his Bocce class—and a quick glance confirmed the mortifying fact that he was lying on the floor in the classroom, with all of his agemates staring at him—when  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu had come in and asked for him. Obi-Wan had stood up, and then he…

He’d had another vision. But at least that one had been… happy, and peaceful. Obi-Wan blinked again as he fixated on two things: he’d called them  _ Jas’buir  _ and  _ Ben’bu.  _ Did that mean Jaster was going to adopt him?

Did that mean he was  _ finally  _ going to say the  _ riduurok  _ with  _ buir? _

“Are you alright, Initiate?”  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, forcing his thoughts away from the vision he’d had. He sat up—slowly, since he was surprisingly dizzy—and  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he said.  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu nodded slowly, and then stood up, taking a step back to give him space to get up. Obi-Wan stood as quickly as he could while combatting the dizziness; he decided then and there that he didn’t much care for having visions while he was awake. He much preferred it when he was asleep and didn’t have to be conscious of how terrible his body felt after. He quickly jammed his  _ buy’ce  _ on his head and reattached his ‘pad to his belt, looking to  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu again, who was still frowning at him.

When  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu didn’t move, or say anything, Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably and prompted, “You wanted to talk to me,  _ Ba’ji? _ ”

“Yes,” he finally said. He nodded once and turned away, glancing around the room and then making eye contact with  _ Ba’ji  _ Hest. “My apologies for interrupting your class.”

“No apology necessary, Master Windu,” they said. “Take care, Obi-Wan.” He felt his cheeks burning even more furiously at that, but nodded, and followed  _ Ba’ji  _ Windu from the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Mar'e! - At last! (expression of relief)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! :D I feel like I'm finally getting back into my writing groove with this story, so updates will hopefully not take like 2-3 weeks for a while, lol. I know I said there would be a "reactions part 2," buuuut, there's also going to be a part 3. This chapter just started to get a little too long for me to want to put the other reactions in it.
> 
> Sarnai, to answer your comment: Thank you!! I absolutely love concrit, especially when it comes to how I'm including representation in my fic. :) I know my author's notes that address it sound a little aggressive, but that was directed at commenters whose reviews I deleted for being too inflammatory (saying things like I'm forcing people into an unnatural view of gender, I'm "promoting" homosexuality and being trans, etc.). I'm experimenting with representation, because I think it's important, but it's also new to me, so I know I have room for improvement to make it more natural. Any and all suggestions on that are welcome as long as they are respectful! Sarnai, your suggestions were absolutely respectful and appreciated, so thank you! :)
> 
> And to everyone who's commented and left kudos, thank you too!! I really appreciate them, I love reading everything you guys have to say and I still can't believe how much attention this fic is getting. :D

Initiate Kenobi had had another vision. Mace had felt it, the  _ swirling  _ of the Force around him, just before he dropped. His agemates had giggled a bit, at first, thinking he’d tripped, but that had quickly turned to concerned muttering as he hadn’t moved, lying unnaturally still on the floor. Mace had waved off Master Hest when he’d gone to help the boy; Mace had plenty of visions himself, after all, and knew very well how to deal with them.

Kenobi had taken quite a while to come out of the vision, long enough that Mace had started to become concerned about how deep within the Force he must have been. It was enough to prompt him to pull the boy out, though calling his name several times had done nothing. Finally, he’d all but  _ shouted  _ at him, using his given name and putting as much of his  _ will  _ behind it as he could. With that, Initiate Kenobi had snapped back into the present, and Mace had breathed a sigh of relief.

He had seemed to bounce back quickly, but Mace noticed as he led them down the hall to the comms center that he was walking more slowly than usual, and seemed to be trying to hold his head as still as possible while walking.

“How do you feel, Initiate?” Mace asked.

The answer took a moment in coming, and finally, the boy said, “...happy, I guess?” Mace’s lips twitched in a frown at that, and he stopped, turning to look at him. Initiate Kenobi stopped as well, slowly tilting his head to point the T-visor at him.

“I meant physically,” Mace clarified.

“...oh. I’m… alright,” Kenobi said. The hesitation had been slight, but it was there. Mace raised an eyebrow.

“You know that I have visions myself?” he asked.

“ _ ‘Lek, Ba’ji. _ ” Initiate Kenobi started to nod, and then stopped abruptly, making a small noise of discontent. Mace’s frown grew deeper.

“I would guess that, right now, you have a headache, nausea, and body aches,” Mace said flatly. “Though you probably also feel somewhat disconnected from your physical self.” Initiate Kenobi was perfectly silent, and Mace sighed. “Come, Initiate.”

“... _ ’lek, Ba’ji. _ ” Initiate Kenobi dutifully followed behind him, and Mace diverted to another lift, not the one that would take them to the comms center. They didn’t speak further as Mace led the way through the halls to his quarters, though he felt a burst of  _ bewilderment-curiosity  _ from Kenobi indicating he’d realized where they were headed.

He let them in and gestured to the long, low couch along one wall. “Lie down.” Kenobi froze for a moment before moving to do as ordered, removing his helmet as he sat and setting it down on the floor beside the couch. Mace grimaced at the sight of him: his normally pale skin was almost ghostly white, his eyes were dull, and he was pursing his lips together, likely to try to fight the nausea. Ever so slowly, he moved to lay down, wincing a bit as he did.

Mace nodded approvingly and went to the kitchen, pulling out his comm. He frowned as he pondered what to tell Mereel, knowing that the  _ Mand’alor  _ would be concerned regardless of what Mace said. Sighing again, he decided to be as candid as he could:  _ We will need to reschedule. Initiate Kenobi _ —Mace erased that and corrected it to Obi-Wan; he’d brought the kid back to his own rooms, so he might as well call him by his name— _ Obi-Wan had a taxing vision. He’s fine, but he needs time to rest. _

He set his commlink on the counter and turned his attention to his cupboards. Mace pulled out the tea he used after his own visions, and a jar of candied ginger. He put the kettle on to boil, glancing at his commlink as he did, but he saw no reply yet. Nodding to himself, Mace grabbed the jar of ginger and took it out into the sitting room. He dimmed the lights as he passed the switch, seeing that Obi-Wan had thrown an arm over his eyes, and set the jar down on the table.

Obi-Wan was still wearing his armor, and Mace frowned again. Physically, he’d likely be more comfortable without it, but he didn’t know if Obi-Wan would be willing to remove it. Or if he could move enough to take it off.

“Would you like me to help you take off your  _ beskar’gam? _ ” Mace offered, articulating the Mando’a carefully. He was likely conversationally fluent by now, having spoken to Mereel so frequently for so long, but he had never really tried to speak it. Obi-Wan moved his arm slightly, just enough for him to crack one eye and peer at Mace. For a moment, Obi-Wan simply eyed him, and Mace waited patiently for an answer. He knew how it felt, when a vision hit this hard, and Obi-Wan was probably having trouble thinking clearly.

“ _ Gedet’ye, _ ” Obi-Wan finally murmured, and Mace nodded. He knelt beside the couch and looked over the armor. “Magnetic closures.” Mace hummed and nodded again. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he quickly got the shin guards off, setting them down beside the helmet on the floor. He knew there was a specific way the armor was supposed to be stacked, if you were going to do that, but since he didn’t know what that arrangement was, Mace simply laid each piece out on the floor, putting each piece side by side.

Once he finished removing the rest of the armor, Mace grabbed a pillow, propping Obi-Wan up, and pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch to drape it over him.

“ _ Vor’e, Ba’ji, _ ” Obi-Wan murmured, and Mace patted his shoulder.

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Mace returned. The whistle of the kettle called him away to the kitchen, and he poured tea for both of them before checking his commlink. He grimaced: four unread messages. Mace shook his head, turning away. The youngling’s care came first. He took the tea back out and set it down on the table beside the ginger before going back for his commlink.

Two of the messages were from other Councilors, questions that could wait a while. One was a reply from Mereel, and Mace frowned as he read it over:  _ Understood. I know how it is, with visions. Comm me when you get a chance, I wanted to talk to you anyway. _

That was… interesting. Mace wondered if Mereel simply remembered Obi-Wan having had visions when he was on Mandalore, before coming to the Order, or if he knew others who had visions. Perhaps even Ben Kenobi. Mace shook his head, sent back a quick confirmation to Mereel, and opened the fourth message; he immediately swore under his breath.

Mace had forgotten all about dinner with Yan and Komari. The dinner where they intended to tell her that Yan would be leaving on an extended mission, by himself, and she would remain in the Temple, with her training overseen by Mace.

He glanced at the chrono; he still had several hours before dinner, but this vision seemed to have hit Obi-Wan particularly hard. Sighing again, Mace typed out a quick explanation to Yan, and then reattached his commlink to his belt and returned to the living room.

Obi-Wan had turned onto his side and curled up, the blanket drawn up over most of his face, his eyes peering out above it. Despite the circumstances, it was rather endearing, and Mace’s lips twitched in a smile as he sat down in his armchair.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, and Obi-Wan hummed a soft, noncommittal noise. Mace nodded. “Try the tea.” Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, and then shifted enough to grab the tea and sit up to drink it. He took a few sips and then set it back down, glancing at the ginger before curling back up. Not yet, then, but he was interested in it.

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Why do I feel bad when what I Saw was good?”

“The physical toll a vision takes has little to do with its content. It’s the use of the Force itself. Visions—even brief ones—can abruptly pull you deeper into the Force than you’re prepared for. And you’ve been having more visions lately, haven’t you?” Obi-Wan grunted an affirmative. “The more frequent they are, the more of a physical impact they can have.”

“Oh. I didn’t used to have so many visions,” Obi-Wan said. “Why is it different now?”

“I don’t know,” Mace said, though he had his suspicions. But that wasn’t something he wanted to voice unless he was all but certain. “We can work on your shielding, to help control them.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan mumbled, sounding tired now. His eyes slipped closed. “ _ Vor’e, Ba’ji. _ ”

Mace smiled to himself as he watched Obi-Wan drift off. He glanced down at his commlink again, eyebrows rising at Yan’s latest message:  _ We will come to you, you need not move him. Perhaps we can help settle young Obi-Wan. We are familiar with him, after all.  _

Yan was  _ volunteering  _ to interact with a younging? When Mace had offered him an out? That was… something. Perhaps the rumors that Yan was considering apprenticing him held a grain of truth after all. That may even be a good idea, having Obi-Wan present while they told Komari about Yan’s mission. It would remind her that Yan had had students before her, and would have more after her. In a roundabout sort of way, it would remind her that her goal was meant to be Knighthood, not a lifetime at her Master’s side. Nodding to himself, Mace settled into his chair and slipped into a light trance, where he would rouse easily if Obi-Wan woke.

He had much to think about, in the meantime.

* * *

Tholme breathed deeply, let the breath out slowly, and reminded himself that he was a Jedi Master, and he  _ would not  _ raise his voice at his Padawan. Especially not in front of one of their hosts.

“I apologize for my Padawan’s behavior, and thank you for returning him to me, Lady Fett,” Tholme said politely, keeping one hand on Quinlan’s shoulder, perhaps just a  _ bit  _ tighter than he normally would. Arla made a face at that, scrunching her nose, and shook her head.

“ _ N’entye,  _ and please call me Arla,” she answered, and reached out to clap Quinlan on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around,  _ ad’ika. _ ” With that, she stepped back, nodding deeply to both of them, and strode off.

Tholme wasted no time in grabbing a fistful of the back of Quinlan's robes and dragging him back into their temporary quarters, ignoring his disgruntled huff, and forced him down onto the couch. Tholme remained standing in front of him, folding his arms over his chest, and stared down at his Padawan.

“What were you thinking, Quinlan?” he asked flatly, and Quinlan frowned.

“I just wanted to help,” he muttered to the floor. “Arla told me yesterday that Ben’s house was on the other side of the gardens, and I knew I’d be able to feel which one it is, and I was right! I found it, but…” He trailed off, glancing up at Tholme, a strange look on his face. Tholme frowned back.

“But what, Padawan?”

“I went to the door, and I was going to just… go inside real quick, and see if I could find something that would tell us more, but… the Force didn’t _want_ me to go inside,” Quinlan said. Tholme frowned, tilting his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s… like my body just froze, and my hand wouldn’t reach out to open the door when I wanted to go in. It was  _ weird. _ ” He paused, still frowning, and then shook his head. “But Obi-Wan was right. The tookas  _ are  _ having kits.”

Tholme stared his Padawan down for another long moment, and then he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m grateful that nothing happened, Quinlan, but you  _ must  _ be more careful. I know that you simply wanted to help, and while I appreciate that your heart is in the right place, you must be realistic. Your control  _ is  _ growing, but the risk of you getting caught in an echo is still too great. If you do, there is  _ no one to help us.  _ Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Quinlan muttered mulishly, looking up through his lashes at Tholme.

“You will not sneak out again, or you will be grounded in the Temple for at least six months when we return,” Tholme declared, and Quinlan winced, but nodded.

“Yes, Master.”

Tholme nodded sharply. “Good. Our hosts have been gracious, thus far, but given how… tumultuous our relationship with Mandalore has been in the past, I would rather not test them. Behave yourself, or at least  _ try  _ to behave yourself.”

“Yes, Master,” Quinlan repeated.

“Now,” he said, “the agenda for the meeting—”

“I did find something else,” Quinlan interrupted him, and Tholme frowned again, but waved a hand. “Arla found me first, and then Ben came. His armor was different, and Arla freaked out when she saw him. But it was good, like she was excited.”

Tholme hummed thoughtfully. “What was different about his armor?”

“His chestplate,” Quinlan answered immediately. “It was still green and orange, except for the white mythosaur skull on his chest. That was new.”

Tholme frowned. He knew very little about the meanings behind armor colors and markings, but Plo had told him that he had spent time with the stronghold’s armorer, and several of the Mandalorians who were willing to tell him what their armor markings meant. He nodded slowly.

“You will stay  _ right there,  _ and review the agenda as you were  _ supposed to before, _ ” Tholme instructed him. Quinlan winced again, but nodded and pulled his datapad out. He must have had it on him from the start, and Tholme’s eyes narrowed. Quinlan shifted guiltily before turning his full attention to his datapad. Tholme nodded once more and turned away, pulling out his commlink to ask Plo to meet him in their rooms.

Tholme went back to his own chair and began looking over the agenda. Mereel had sent it back with only a few changes and additions, including “Bandomeer” as one of the topics. Why he wanted to discuss Bandomeer was beyond Tholme, though he would guess it had something to do with the piracy issue and the fact that Plo and Knight Billaba had been enroute to Bandomeer when they were attacked. It was close enough to his borders that Mereel likely had concerns about it. Deciding that was the most likely explanation, Tholme was about to look to the next item on their agenda when the door chimed.

Quinlan started to rise, no doubt to answer it, and Tholme gave him a  _ look  _ and pointed a finger at him in warning. “ _ Stay there. _ ” Quinlan huffed, but looked back to his datapad, and Tholme nodded to himself and moved to get it himself.

It was, thankfully, Plo and Billaba, and Tholme greeted them with a touch of relief. More eyes to help him watch Quinlan couldn’t  _ hurt,  _ after all.

“Tea?” he offered, Plo hummed.

“I did bring more shig, if you would like,” he offered, and Tholme hummed and nodded. He had brought tea from his stores in his apartments in the Temple, but if he could save it in reserve, he would. And shig was pleasant enough. He nodded.

“Thank you.” Plo nodded back and moved to the kitchen, and Billaba bowed to Tholme, who bowed back, and then she turned to Quinlan, who looked up at her with something like suspicion on his face. She smiled wanly.

“I heard you had a bit of an adventure this morning,” she said, and Quinlan huffed.

“Not really. I just went across the garden,” he mumbled, and Billaba’s smile grew at his petulance. “Obi-Wan was right, though, and one of the tookas is pregnant.”

Billaba hummed, looking thoughtful at that. Tholme had also filed away that information; it was a small detail, but it could be a sign that Initiate Kenobi didn’t just have visions, he had True Sight. That was certainly something to keep an eye on.

Billaba settled herself on the couch beside Quinlan, and Plo returned quickly with the shig, using a mildly frivolous application of the Force to bring in all of the mugs at once. Tholme murmured a quiet thanks, and Plo hummed as he took a seat in the other armchair.

“Now, you said that you needed assistance with armor meanings?” Plo asked, and Tholme nodded. “My knowledge is still rudimentary, but I believe I might be able to make an educated guess, if you describe the armor.” Tholme looked to Quinlan, who sighed and shifted slightly.

“When I went out this morning—” Tholme snorted at his Padawan’s phrasing, and Quinlan winced a bit. “—I saw Ben, and his armor was different. He changed his chestplate; it was still green and orange, mostly, but he had a white mythosaur on his chest.” Plo tilted his head thoughtfully.

“How large?” he asked slowly.

“It took up most of the left side.”

“ _ His  _ left?” Plo clarified, and Quinlan nodded. Plo hummed and took a sip of his shig through the metal straw he kept with him to drink through his breather. “Interesting. I have never seen a white mythosaur on the left side of the armor, though I have seen them smaller, and on the right side, though usually that sigil goes on a pauldron. Did he only change the paint, or was it a different piece of armor entirely?”

“I don’t know,” Quinlan answered slowly, frowning. “I haven’t ever seen his armor before in person, just in the holos Obi-Wan’s shown me, so I couldn’t really tell.” Plo nodded. “But… Arla also got really excited when she saw him.”

Plo leaned forward slightly, a spark of  _ interest  _ flaring in the Force from him, and Tholme frowned again. “What did she say?”

“Well, she screamed, first,” Quinlan said flatly. “I mean, it was a good scream, but it was  _ loud. _ ” Billaba smiled into her mug at that, and Tholme shook his head. “She said  _ ‘mar’e,’  _ and hugged him. And then he asked if she approved, and she said yes.”

“Ah,” Plo sighed. “I believe I may know what that means, in that case.” Quinlan leaned forward eagerly. “In Mandalorian culture, the exchange of armor is used to signify a marriage. The traditions surrounding the armor vary slightly among various Clans, but they all include some form of armor exchange.” Tholme’s stomach sank, knowing what that probably meant.

“So Obi-Wan’s dad is getting married?” Quinlan asked slowly.

“It is a likely explanation, particularly if his sigil placement has changed. Though I would need to see if it is a different piece of armor entirely, first,” Plo answered, and Quinlan frowned.

“If he _is_ getting married, why wouldn’t Obi-Wan tell me?” he said quietly, and Plo hummed again.

“He may not know yet himself, if it just now happened,” Plo said, and Quinlan nodded again. Tholme sighed and shook his head.

“This is bad news for us, if it’s true,” Tholme murmured. Billaba hummed.

“Perhaps not,” she said. “I spent a great deal of time with the Mandalorians last night, and heard much about Kenobi. All of their descriptions paint him as the embodiment of Jedi ideals—patient, kind, thoughtful, and selfless. And he apparently speaks very highly of the Order. He may be more cooperative than we assume.”

Tholme frowned again at that. He’d been avoiding them, and Plo and Billaba both had told him how the other Mandalorians seemed hellbent on keeping Kenobi away from them. Why would he want to avoid them if he thought well of the Order?

“If he  _ is  _ getting married,” Quinlan said slowly, “I think we all know  _ who  _ he’s marrying.” Tholme grimaced, but nodded. “What  _ does  _ that mean for us?”

Tholme simply sighed. “First, Padawan, we will determine whether or not it is true. If it is, then we will report to the Council and act on their recommendation. We mustn’t make any decisions based on speculation and rumors.”

Quinlan nodded again, but didn’t look convinced. Truthfully, Tholme wasn’t either. And if this  _ was  _ true, then that would effectively put an end to their investigation; Tholme knew that they weren’t going to risk relations with Mandalore over one man, not when they were only  _ now  _ starting to mend a rift that had festered for a thousand years.

“In the meantime,” Plo continued, “Jorin, the  _ goran _ —armorer—for House Mereel has offered to assist us in writing a report on the current affairs of the sector for the Archives. That will occupy Depa and I nicely while you focus on the negotiations.”

Tholme nodded and glanced at the chrono. They still had a few hours before the first session was set to begin. “A fine idea. I’m sure Master Nu will appreciate it.” Billaba snorted at that, and Plo chuckled, both well aware of Master Nu’s feelings on the Mandalore sector and the “completeness” of her Archives. “Padawan: what do you think of the agenda?”

Quinlan sighed and turned back to his datapad, and Tholme tried to keep his attention on his Padawan’s summary, though it was hard with the Force swirling around him as it was. It clearly had something to tell him, but Tholme could not divine what that might be. There was only a sense of  _ be prepared-something is coming.  _ No, Tholme realized with a frown, not  _ something. _

**_Someone_ ** _ is coming. Be prepared. _

Well, Tholme thought, that was ominous, but not enough to act on. He would simply have to be mindful, which he had already planned to do. Nodding once to himself, he turned his attention back to Quinlan, and their first meeting with the  _ Mand’alor. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to IntrovertedObserver for catching how unnatural it is that Obi-Wan is having so many visions! :D That is an upcoming plot point for sure. ;)
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see Jango's reaction to the news, dinner with Mace, Obi-Wan, Dooku, and Komari, and the beginnings of Tholme and Quinlan's negotiations...


End file.
